


Noisy Neighbors, Retold (Rowan POV)

by noodlecatposts



Series: Noisy Neighbors AU [2]
Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, F/M, SPOLIERS FOR NOISY NEIGHBORS, retelling of a few NN scenes from Rowan's POV
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:06:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24047125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noodlecatposts/pseuds/noodlecatposts
Summary: Contains scenes from the fic, Noisy Neighbors, retold from Rowan's POV.
Relationships: Aelin Ashryver Galathynius | Celaena Sardothien/Rowan Whitethorn, Lyria/Rowan Whitethorn
Series: Noisy Neighbors AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1734661
Comments: 28
Kudos: 177





	1. PT24 — Water Under the Bridge Drabble

**Author's Note:**

> A lot of people both on here and on Tumblr have requested some stuff from Rowan's POV. I'll post them under here. They'll be in no particular order, and they're mostly drabbles.  
>  **If you haven't read NN, I would highly recommend it. These drabbles contain spoilers for that story.**

Rowan slips into the bathroom a little before midnight. Weariness has him sliding down the wall of the room to sit on the ground a moment later. It’s late for him, for anyone living in this house of cards, but Rowan didn’t want to miss it.

He prayed that Thea stayed asleep long enough for Rowan to watch. He’d only just gotten her to settle down.

Aelin is such a brat, scheduling the drop of her next single at midnight. If it was just the audio, Rowan could put it off until the morning, but a live show? He couldn’t bring himself to miss it.

Truthfully, he’d probably stay up until midnight if she’d only dropped the song. Rowan was hopeless.

The feed goes live just as Rowan wins the battle against untangling his headphone cord. He used to be more meticulous about this stuff; Aelin always teased him for it, called him OCD. Now he doesn’t have time for it.

Aelin’s cackle is the first thing to come through the audio. The camera focuses on her grinning face, brighter than any sunshine Rowan’s ever seen. His heart clenches; he misses her.

Lorcan is grinning like a fiend in the background, earning himself a fiery glare from Aelin’s guitarist. Elide Lochan. She’s good—a world-class musician. No wonder the moody drummer can’t stop talking about her when they go out for drinks.

There’s a throat clearing. Aelin blinks in the direction it came from, off-camera. A classic Aelin-wasn’t-paying-attention face if Rowan’s ever seen one.

Aelin nods once, and then another person calls, “Quiet, please!”

“Hey, guys!” Aelin exclaims, purple hair shining in the studio lights. It looks good on her, but Rowan thinks her naturally golden hair is her best look. “Welcome to my home. My hair is lavender. And this is my new single, Water Under the Bridge!”

Rowan laughs, a heartbreaking sound, as Lor counts in the other musicians. Aelin enters battle mode, and Rowan settles in to watch.


	2. PT25—Post the Flower Scene

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene takes sometime after Aelin rejects the flowers from Rowan, but about six months before Aelin finds out. If that makes sense.

##  **Rowan Whitethorn, how the rockstar turned undercover songwriter.**

“Right,” Lyria begins, exiting the bedroom with a bag thrown over her shoulder, one hand laced with Thea’s. Their daughter follows her along with big curious eyes, footsteps growing steadier every day. “We’ll just be at my parents’. If you need anything, just…”

Rowan looks up from where he stands in the kitchen as his wife’s words trail off, searching for the right thing to say. Thea’s bright green eyes observe him. She’s young, but she’s still old enough to sense that something is amiss.

He kneels in front of his daughter, tapping her on the nose once. Thea immediately breaks into giggles at the contact, her mother’s smile splitting across her face. That laugh. It’s the best thing he’s ever heard in his life.

“Ro,” Lyria begins softly, sadly. Rowan has to remind himself to harden his heart, to remember why they’re doing this, to remember how hard it was for either of them to get here. 

They weren’t happy. A mutual agreement for space. So bittersweet.

“Don’t make this harder than it already is,” Rowan snaps, regretting the heat of his words immediately. Lyria’s face pales, but Rowan hasn’t forgotten yet the things they said to each other, the accusations they’ve thrown at each other for months. 

Lyria would if he asked her to. She’d forget all of the hate and forgive him. Rowan doesn’t want her forgiveness; he wants better than this—for his daughter.

Thea holds her arms out for Rowan, a silent request to be held by her father. He’s about to go without her for a whole weekend, so he relents easily, sweeping her into his embrace. If things go well, he may be seeing even less of his daughter. Rowan holds Thea just that much tighter. 

“Come with us,” his wife says anyway, a soft, half-hearted plea. “We—this isn’t what I want.”

Rowan sighs. “Me either. You know that, L. But we deserve better than this—all three of us. You said so yourself.”

Lyria’s face falls, tears already staining her cheeks. “It’s just—this our family, Rowan.”

Without another word, he wraps an arm around her small shoulders, pulling her into his chest and holding her close. No matter what happens next, Lyria will always be important to him. Rowan married this woman; she gave him Thea. He owes her the world for that alone. 

Lyria sighs into the embrace, and Thea snuggles into his neck. Rowan savors the moment for as long as possible; this quiet moment with both of his girls in his arms. They won’t say it aloud, but he knows that this is it. This the last moment they’re going to share as one. As a family still intact. 

Because Lyria isn’t going to come home from her parents with Thea. She’s going to look for somewhere else to live, find somewhere closer to them, and further from him. Rowan would never dream separating Thea from her mother, and Lyria will need hers, too. 

“I’ll see you girls soon, okay?” Rowan says, voice shaky. 

Lyria’s smile is shaky. “Yes. Of course.”

##  **_Before You Go_ turns platinum.**


	3. PT27— The Bridge Scene

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from the last scene of part 27.

##  **Rowan Whitethorn seen leaving Adarlan Records—writing more music for other people?**

“What do you want, Lor?” Rowan growls when he answers the phone. These stupid friends of his just don’t know how to take a hint. He just wants to be left alone; he doesn’t need them taking care of him.

Thea looks up quickly, surprised by the sound of her father’s anger. Rowan regrets his tone immediately. Shooting her a wink and a smile, Rowan tries to calm his irritation. Lorcan means well; he’s just a pain in the ass about it. “I already told you that I was fine.”

When Lorcan answers, his voice surprises Rowan. It isn’t filled with his usual amused frustration, the type of tone he usually wears when pissing of Rowan with a check-in call. The drummer sounds worried—panicked, even.

“Hey,” Lor begins tentatively. Concern floods Rowan. “What are the odds that Aelin is with you right now?”

Rowan’s heart goes still at the sound of her name. Of all of the people hounding him, checking in one him, Aelin is definitely the worst of them. He hasn’t been able to respond to her, hasn’t been able to find the right words, and so, he’s ignored her, despite all of Aelin’s best efforts. Rowan just didn’t know what to say to her.

“I’d say don’t be your paycheck on it,” Rowan jokes, trying to play off the rising feeling nagging him. Lorcan knows what’s going on in Aelin’s life better than anyone these days. He’s her best friend now—a job that used to be held by Rowan.

“Fuck off,” Lorcan hisses. It confirms for Rowan that there is something very wrong. “Have you see her or not, man? Spoken to her today?”

It’s then that Rowan realizes that he hasn’t heard from her, not today. Aelin’s communicated with him in one form or another nearly every day. It’s usually just an anecdote. Sometimes she complains about someone they mutually know. There have been a few threats, too.

“No—why?” Rowan does his best to keep his voice from showing his worry. The last couple of months have really taught him that Thea is more in tune with his cues than he every expected a two and a half-year-old to be.

His friend takes too long to answer, and Rowan’s heart starts to race as he waits. He needs to know what’s wrong with Aelin, and he needs Lorcan to tell him right now—

“She’s—shit,” Lor swears. “She fucking snuck off this morning, and no one can find her. At first, Essar thought she was just being a tit, but now… Rowan, we have no idea where she fucking is.”

“What?” Rowan yelps. Thea’s pine green eyes go wide. “How the fu—How do you lose a woman with a security team?”

Lorcan is silent. Then, “You know, Aelin. She gets what she wants.”

##  **Three years later: What is the Cadre doing during their hiatus?**

Without a lead from him, Lorcan hangs up shortly afterward. Rowan tries not to fret about Aelin as he finishes dinner with Thea and gets her ready for dinner, but he quickly learns that’s not possible.

Rowan’s pacing the living room debating how to reach back out to Lorcan—to ask for an update or to offer his help, he doesn’t know—when the man himself calls, asking about a pub nearby called the Sea Dragon.

“That place is shady as fuck,” Rowan informs his friend. “Wait, is that where Aelin is?”

He has his hands on the keys before Lorcan can answer or explain. It’s been hours since anyone has seen or heard from Aelin, and if they think that Rowan can just sit by and wait for someone else to find her, they’re fucking crazy.

“Lys is at the old apartment,” Lor tells her. “She’ll hang with Thea.”

##  **Aelin Galathynius surprises fans at an open mic performance, plays former co-writer’s song _Before You Go._**

“Aelin!” Rowan shouts, jumping out of his car and slamming the door behind him.

She’s standing atop the bridge, sitting atop the rails and gazing at the river like there’s nowhere else she’d rather be. He’d recognize her anywhere—even with hair dyed the color of wine, all of its wild waves pressed smooth to fall just below her chin.

Aelin doesn’t look up when he calls her name, almost like she didn’t hear him say it.

Rowan rushes towards her, trying his best not to run. He’s afraid that if he approaches too quickly that she’ll scare like a wild animal, take off running as she has nearly every other time he’s seen her lately. How Rowan wishes he’d opened the door the last time she’d come to his apartment, sliding that note under the door.

Instead, he’d just taken the envelope, and the song within it, and walked away. Stupid. Rowan so fucking godsdamned stupid—

“Sometimes I think about jumping,” Aelin tells Rowan. Panic freezes him to the spot.

Rowan stares hard at her face. Her profile is stark against the city lights. She’s older than the last time he really took a look at her, and yet, it’s still the same Aelin, with her Greek nose and furrowed brows, those celestial eyes watching the water and refusing to look at him.

“Do you want to?” he asks at last. “Jump?”

“Kind of,” she admits. Rowan’s heart shatters. He nearly reaches for her then, wanting to pull her close and never let go. Aelin continues with nothing more than a shrug of one fine shoulder. “Not, like, to fucking kill myself, or some shit, but just—because I could. I could totally jump off of this bridge, and I’d die, but still, my brain says, ‘Jump.’”

At last, Aelin looks at him. She’s so calm; that alarms Rowan more than anything. “Don’t you ever have fucked up thoughts like that? Like, I could push this person in front of a train right now? Or, I could totally burn this house down if I want to?”

Rowan snorts despite himself, earning a watery smile from her. “You always were a fucking pyro, Ace.”

“Blame my mom for calling me Fireheart,” Aelin chuckles, but it comes out more like a croak. Rowan opens his mouth to say something else, anything, but he doesn’t know what to say. They both go quiet until she speaks again. Her voice is small, like Thea’s when she’s admitted to doing something wrong. “Am I the only one? Who has those thoughts? Is that just my fucked up head getting the better of me again?”

A loaded question for sure. Rowan thinks hard on the answer; he knows its important and that Aelin will take his opinion on the matter very seriously. He settles for sharing the truth, retelling the bad morning he had the other day.

Thea had a rough start to the day, fussing and crying for her mother, and Rowan ended up late for a meeting with the recording studio. A shit meeting, of course. The thought was fleeting, nothing more than a passing cynical thought idea. Rowan would never actually follow through with it. He was needed here. He liked being here.

“Clearly, you reconsidered.”

Rowan laughs. “What good would it do me?”

Then he tells her how he likes to be alive, and a terrifying thought hits him. “Do you, Aelin?”

The idea that Aelin may not want to live… It crushed his very soul. The longer she takes to respond, the more his heartbreaks. What happened? When did the fiery, alive woman he’d known for so long disappear? Retreat inside of herself so deeply that Rowan could barely see the sparks anymore?

“Do you want to die?” he asks, urging her to answer.

Her forehead still wrinkles when she’s thinking. “No—It’d make Fleetfoot sad.”

Rowan doesn’t know who she’s talking about at first. Then he remembers the picture of the dog he’d seen in a weak moment scrolling through social media. Rowan tried very hard to avoid any and all of that trap, but it was the best way to get in touch with some of his friends.

It’s such a sweet thought. An Aelin thought if he’s ever heard one. She doesn’t want to die and make her dog sad. Rowan laughs quietly. “It’d make a lot of people sad, Aelin… A lot of people.”

Aelin nods, but it’s not good enough for Rowan. For some reason, it even makes him mad.

“Aelin, I—” The crack in his voice catches him off guard. He looks her dead in the eye. He’s never felt more hopeless.

“I don’t know how to help you, Aelin. I don’t know how to make you love yourself or make you want to live. Hell, I can barely get my own ass out of bed most days lately, but I do—because Thea needs me. She needs her dad.”

When she tells him that she’s not asking for help from him or anyone, Aelin’s voice is full of surrender. It’s so un-Aelin that Rowan loses that last bit of control on his anger. He snaps, ordering her to fight because Rowan’s never known Aelin not to fight. This is the same woman that once fought with him over killing the spider she had living in her bathroom. To think Rowan thought he was doing her a favor.

“Do you fucking hear me?” he snarls when she doesn’t react.

Aelin starts to cry, and Rowan feels immediately guilty. Instead, he tells her to get off of the rail because it’s fucking terrifying him, and at last, Aelin laughs at him, teasing about his overbearing personality, an old and long-standing joke between them.

Rowan is rolling his eyes at her when Aelin slips, crying out in surprise and tipping backward towards the water. He doesn’t think he’s every moved as quickly as he does at that moment; Rowan snatches her by the arm and yanks her towards him.

“Fucking Hellas, Aelin!” Rowan’s arms lock around her in a bone-crushing hug. Aelin gasps in relief, folding into his arms easily, willingly. “I’m already going fucking gray—I don’t need it to get any worse.”

Aelin’s sobbing catches him off guard at first. Yet, regardless of the circumstances, Rowan finds himself relaxing into the embrace, a feeling of relief washing over him at having Aelin close to him again. _She’s safe, and she’s here_.

Aedion and the stern bodyguard pull up as Rowan comforts Aelin. He was on the phone with the two of them when he first found Aelin, told them where to find her.

“Is she okay?” her cousin asks, worry shining in his eyes.

Rowan is about to say that Aelin is fine when he reconsiders. “She will be.”

“Gimme your keys,” Aedion tells him, taking note of how Aelin clings to Rowan like he’s her lifeline. “Chaol will drive you guys back to the apartment. I’ll follow in your car.”

Rowan complies without an argument, guiding Aelin towards the intimidating black vehicle. Her legs give out quickly, too overcome with the breakdown that’s come at long last to walk. Rowan lifts her into his arms easily, noting how thin his old friend has become in their time apart. Aelin is nothing more than a ghost.

It makes him madder by the second, all these little pieces that have gone unnoticed or, worse, ignored in his absence. Rowan tries to remind himself that Aelin is tough, stubborn as hell, but all Rowan can do is fume silently as he holds her, comforting her in her time of need like Aelin tried so hard to do for him.

##  **Rowan Whitethorn seen leaving Aelin Galathynius’s apartment. Is there a reconciliation in the makes?**


	4. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Rowan POV! This takes place while the family (plus Rowan and Thea) are vacationing in the mountains.

##  **Did Aelin Galathynius Go On A Couple’s Retreat?**

Rowan wakes to the morning sun. It takes him some time to become fully conscious, the after-effects of Rhoe’s good bourbon still clouding his mind. It’s okay, though; Rowan is in no rush to get out of bed. He’s comfortable here, pressed backward into a soft and warm body, their arms wrapped snuggly around his ribcage.

Alarm hits Rowan; it’s like that the time he electrocuted himself on stage. It was back during The Cadre days, and Rowan was trying to be helpful where he was least helpful. The quick, harmless zap snapped him awake, much like now.

Rowan tries to remember the events of the night before, puzzling out the current state of events. Aelin’s happy, drunk smile is the first image to appear in his mind, and then he thinks of her giggling, finger’s dancing across the piano keys with a skill belying her level of intoxication. That woman could probably play classical piano in her sleep.

A face nuzzles into the space between his shoulder blades, sighing into his shirt. They let out a deep sigh, and Rowan remembers Aelin being too drunk to master the stairs to her bedroom, Rowan being too drunk to help. He told her to stay in his room, and they leaned on one another the whole way to his room, sneaking about like teenagers and snickering whenever they made a loud noise.

Rowan thinks he intended to double back to the couch, but the journey to his room left him too tired to recall such a plan. Aelin fell face first into the bed, and Rowan thought that looked like a good idea. So, he followed after. Rowan was asleep before his head even hit the pillow.

It’s been years since Rowan woke up feeling so refreshed, and that’s even with the mild hangover he’s sporting. He smiles to himself, realizing that it’s Aelin wrapped around him. They used to crash together at Rowan’s old place all of the time; eventually, it stopped, became inappropriate considering their relationships. He’s… missed this.

Aelin inhales sharply. Rowan tries not to tense his muscles as she launches herself away from him, wounding his pride. Rowan pretends to sleep; he hadn’t realized until this precise moment that Aelin’s reaction to waking up next to him would matter so much. Rowan’s disappointed by the outcome. Hurt, even.

“Shit,” Aelin hisses to herself, voice laced with hate. “Aelin, you fucking drunk.”

Her words strike Rowan in through the heart, stealing his breath and twisting his guts. This isn’t the first time he’s ever heard Aelin speak harshly to herself or about herself, but it hurts him to listen to it. Hurts more to hear how she feels about staying the night with him.

Aelin shuffles out of bed, muttering to herself under her breath. Her voice is too low for Rowan to make out what she says, but he just knows that whatever it is is self-deprecating. It takes a lot out of him not to say something to stop her, but Rowan’s already committed to pretending to be asleep. He’s too much of a coward to give himself away now.

The door clicks shut ever so softly, and Rowan falls onto his back and resists a groan, slapping his hands to his face and rubbing harshly at his skin. What a disaster, he thinks. A huge fucking mess.

Rowan reaches for his phone to check the time. Lyria’s mother has texted about scheduling another playdate, but Rowan ignores it. He’s still a little upset with the woman’s behavior towards him the last they spoke. Thea’s grandmother was upset to hear Rowan deviating from their usual plans. It was a conversation that didn’t end well.

He tried not to be upset about it. Rowan knew it was no secret to them that Lyria and Rowan were separated. She’d been staying at there house when everything came to a head, but even if Rowan was the cruel bastard that finally called it quits, it didn’t give Lyria’s mother the right to hold it over him whenever he did something she didn’t like.

But Rowan wanted Thea to know her grandparents. His family was always rather distant growing up, and that hadn’t really changed during his adult years. Rowan didn’t want his daughter to grow up in a similar situation.

Not that The Cadre would ever let the little girl feel lonely, Rowan thinks. Fenrys and Connall were the troublesome cousins that Thea didn’t need, and Lorcan was always there, her indulgent uncle. Uncle Vaughan always ended up reading her books over the phone.

And there was Aelin, trying desperately to win the little girl over to her side. Rowan’s heart warms as he recalls her many attempts to bribe the little girl with treats and secretive smiles; it seemed to be working. Rowan was glad.

##  **Fans Theories for the Mystery Man in Aelin’s Livestream.**

Rowan decides to get up to check on Thea, but he can’t find her anywhere. He assumes she’s with Aelin’s parents; they were forever spoiling Thea, her pair of adoptive grandparents. The thought makes him smile.

Aelin is dragging a mug of coffee her way when Rowan finds the rest of the group, hanging out in the kitchen predictably. “I got drunk last night—passed out in the study,” she’s saying.

Rowan’s heart sinks at the lie, even if he knows that he likely would have lied about their sleeping arrangements, too. But Aelin tells Lysandra and Aedion everything; if she’s keeping something from them, Aelin really doesn’t want them to know. Is she embarrassed?

“Someone looks well-rested,” Lysandra coos from where she leans against the kitchen island, a feline grin plastered on her face. Rowan doesn’t know what game the model is playing out, but he has a feeling that he just walked right into her web.

He clears his throat. “Yeah. I slept like a rock.”

Lysandra says something particularly suggestive and Aelin faceplants into the cool marble counter. Rowan barks a laugh at the model’s words, teasing Aelin with a nudge to her side. She peers up at him with narrowed eyes, and the turquoise color of them makes his heart skip. Even with the bedhead and hangover, Aelin is beautiful.

##  **Rowan Whitethorn Likes Aelin Galathynius’s Vacation Photo. Are the Former Bandmates Friends Again?**

The sound of Aelin screaming in mock terror makes Rowan look up from the frying pan. He smiles as he watches the takedown unfold, Fleetfoot hopping onto Aelin’s lap and knocking her over. Thea is quick to take advantage of the dog pinning Aelin down, sitting atop Aelin’s stomach, and trying to tickle her sides.

The happiness on everyone’s faces makes Rowan’s chest ache. He nearly burns the next set of pancakes because he just can’t bring himself to look away. It’s nice to have everyone together; Rowan could never have guessed how well they would blend.

“Thank you for coming,” Rhoe says softly from the opposite side of the island, accepting the next plate of pancakes from him. “I know you and I left on less than stellar terms last we spoke.”

Apologies shine in the older man’s eyes, and Rowan flushes with the memory of their last conversation. It was more of an argument, really; Rowan was furious after finding Aelin on the side of that bridge, broken and sad. He’d taken his anger out on Aedion and Rhoe, two people who easily cared for Aelin as much as he did.

“Don’t worry about it,” Rowan tells Aelin’s father. He doesn’t want things to be weird between them; Rhoe is like a father to him. He’s the man who used to order a bunch of barely twenty-somethings pizza after rehearsals in his glamorous garage next to his classic car collection. 

Rowan shrugs, forcing a smile. It’s easier than he expected. “It was a stressful situation, and things got heated.”

Aelin’s father nods once in acceptance. His ice-blue eyes are warm as he watches his daughter; Aelin is begging for mercy, her laughter choking her words as she pleads. Rowan smiles as Thea giggles, attracting the attention of Fleetfoot. The dog changes victims, begins licking Thea’s face instead. Rowan’s daughter squeals.

“She’s happier when you’re around,” Rhoe observes quietly like he’s speaking of something forbidden. “She’s been a ghost this past week—not even Lysandra could get her to cheer up.”

Rowan’s smile fades. “Still?”

“Aedion says she hasn’t called Yrene yet,” the father admits rather guiltily. They must feel bad for snooping in Aelin’s private affairs, but Rowan has trouble blaming theme. “Though not for lack of our trying. You know Aelin; if she doesn’t want to do something, there’ll be no making her.”

Rowan looks to Aelin’s dad. His blue eyes are solemn despite the laughter echoing in the great room. “You want me to try to convince her?”

“No,” Rhoe says quickly, alarm filling his eyes. “No, I wouldn’t ask that of you.” Aelin’s father sighs. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t wish to put you in an uncomfortable position. I’m just… worried about her.”

It’s only because of Thea that Rowan recognizes the depth of concern that Rhoe is experiencing. He never would have understood the grim set of the older man’s face before becoming a father himself. Rhoe’s daughter may be an adult, but she’s still his _child_. Rowan can’t ever imagine letting go of that paternal instinct, not until the day he dies. Maybe even not after that.

“I’ll check in with her,” Rowan tells him, starting the next set of pancakes. “She’ll probably just yell at me, but that’s okay by me.”

Rhoe cracks a grin at that. “Thank you, Rowan—for everything.”

##  **The Cadre’s Honorary Member, Thea Whitethorn.**

Rowan stares at the computer screen, frowning deeply as he listens to the song that Nox Owens has sent him for possibly the hundredth time over. He rewinds the song back about halfway, picking apart the transition to the bridge and puzzling out the solution. Fucking pop music.

It’s a new piece, written by the usual team for one of Adarlan’s favorite show ponies. Remelle Snowe is the kind of singer that couldn’t write a song for herself to save her life—or, more importantly, her career. No, that task fell to the likes of Nox and Rowan.

“So,” Nox asks, voice strained. Rowan can’t blame him; he’s not the one locked in a recording booth with Remelle right now. “What do you think?”

Rowan sighs, hating that he’s spending even an hour of his vacation time with this. He should be chasing Thea and Fleetfoot around the backyard right now, not creating a new single for some shallow lip singer.

“It’s—boring.” He leans back in the office chair, trying not to feel out of sorts by stealing the Galathynius office. Rhoe and Evalin just reminded him that they were retired, smiling and waving off his worries. “No offense, man.”

Nox barks a laugh, but Rowan sees the way Remelle glares at the camera, clearly bothered with his opinion. They’ve never met before; it seems that Rowan isn’t making the best first impression with the pop star. Oh well.

“Shit, dude,” Nox says through a smile. “Don’t hold back.”

Rowan grins at his coworker. “Never.” He rewinds the song, listening to the transition. “You need to add something before the bridge, build things up a little bit. The song is flat otherwise.”

Nox ignores the star who mutters something under her breath, saying to Rowan, “Any suggestions?”

“I could probably come up with something,” Rowan answers. “Some gang vocals could be fun on the chorus, too.”

Remelle huffs. “I don’t sing hip hop.”

Rowan’s gaze slides to Nox’s face. His expression asks, _Is she serious?_

_Oh, absolutely._ The twinkle in Nox’s eyes says.

“Sounds good to me!” Nox plays the referee. They chat through ideas as Rowan heads through the house in search of his guitar. As he passes by the den, Aelin’s piano playing and singing fill the hall. She’s been in there since the dawn, battling it out with the piano. Or maybe just herself.

“It sounds like you’re already busy,” Remelle snips. At the same time, Nox playfully says, “Hey, I know that song!”

“You would, considering you helped write it.” Rowan already told Nox where he was, but that doesn’t seem to stop the producer from pointing it out to him. Still, Rowan keeps the camera angled away from Aelin, not wanting to invade her privacy.

Rowan claims his guitar and returns to the office. Nox and Rowan talk strategy, and Remelle gives unhelpful input. She warms up to Rowan as the conversation continues, as she realizes that Rowan’s not someone she wants working against her. With his songwriting, the song can go far; she’ll go far.

A while later, they decide to split up. Rowan agrees to record what he has and send it over, and Nox will re-record for better quality whenever he finishes walking Remelle through what gang vocal records are. Rowan certainly doesn’t envy the man that task.

##  **Remelle Snowe Shares Photo from the Studio, Tags Nox Owens and Rowan Whitethorn—New Remelle Music on the Way?**

When Rowan decides to call it quits for the evening, he goes looking for Thea. It’s nearly time for her to go to bed, and he’d like to soak in a little father-daughter time before tucking her in. He’s wasted a whole day without her, and he wants to hate himself for it, but Rowan knows it’s a necessary evil.

“Do you guys know where Thea is?” Rowan asks Rhoe and Evalin. They’re curled on the living room couch together, the picture of domestic bliss.

Fleetfoot snuggles close to Aelin’s mother, breaking the no furniture rule again. Rowan wonders if any member of the Ashryver-Galathynius household knows that they’re all sneaking that dog onto the couch; he doesn’t think he’s seen anyone actually enforce the rule.

“She wandered into the den a couple of minutes ago,” Evalin tells him with a smile that makes Rowan blush inexplicably.

“Thanks,” he says and runs away from their knowing expressions.

Rowan follows the sound of music to the den. As promised, he finds Thea seated on the bench beside Aelin, nodding her head along to the music and clutching her teddy bear. He arrives just in time to witness Aelin and Thea burst into song at the chorus.

Thea smiles so big that Rowan aches to reach out and hug his little girl immediately. The song fades out, Aelin singing somberly at the end, and Thea giggles sweetly, enjoying herself. Predictably, his daughter asks for another round. Aelin takes it good-naturedly, laughing at the demands of the toddler. Thea shares her father’s love for music.

And then the moment shatters: “Do you know my mommy’s song?”

Grief hits Rowan like a freight train. Aelin gapes at his daughter, scrambling for the right thing to say to a question like that. She takes the right approach. Honesty.

He decides to save them all. “There you are!”

Thea grins at her father, forgetting all about her serious question. As Rowan draws near her, she reaches her hands up in the universal kid gesture for “ _pick me up.”_ He scoops Thea into his arms and holds her close to him, feeling protective of his little girl.

Aelin startles at the sound of his voice, blushing prettily. She waves awkwardly. “I didn’t know you were there.”

Rowan mumbles something in response, but he couldn’t repeat it if someone asked him to. His mind races with anger and grief. He’s pissed at everything all of a sudden, and Rowan is trying very, very hard not to take it out on Aelin or anyone else undeserving.

“Have a goodnight,” Rowan tells her, but the words come out more harshly than he intended. He cringes internally, running away from cunning Ashryver eyes for the second time within the half-hour. Aelin can always see right through him, and much like her, he doesn’t want to talk about his problems. Rowan knows that it makes him a hypocrite.

It’s just hard.

##  **Back From Vacation: The Cadre’s Rowan Whitethorn and Daughter Seen With Aelin Galathnius.**


	5. Chapter 42.5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brace yourself for feelings! —That feels like an appropriate warning. Anywho, we’re rewinding a tad to the Charity event from Rowan’s perspective. Enjoy!

##  **A Rare Performance by Rowan Whitethorn of the Cadre!**

Rowan didn’t really plan on performing tonight, but as he exits stage left and hands Lucy off to the nearby stagehand, he thinks that he’s happy he did. It was a nice change of pace for him; except for all the bullshit and fanfare, Rowan loves to perform, wishes he could do it more often. If it weren’t for Thea, he’d probably try and meld into the background of some touring band, get his routine fix of adrenaline and carry on with his life.

Yet, Rowan was a father, and he had every intention of being there for his daughter.

Evalin’s voice echoes through the backstage monitors, and Rowan pauses to listen to her speech. Aelin’s mother is wholly responsible for her daughter’s ability to draw in a crowd with her words; the charisma and well-spoken manners, they all came from Evalin.

“Now! If you all would please help me in welcoming our next performance to the stage…” Evalin trails off, and Rowan can picture her smile without taking a peek out the wings to see her. It looks just like Aelin’s. The crowd cheers. “...Cassian Guerra!”

Nothing happens.

Rowan holds his breath in anticipation, waiting for the man of the hour to appear, but he’s missed his cue. Evalin releases an awkward breath, making up some excuse about cheering harder, and Rowan glances around looking for the musician. He notes the nervous PAs, whispering furiously into their headsets. Cassian must be missing then. His band revs up the music, sending a silent prayer to the universe.

Cassian darts past Rowan suddenly, nearly taking the other large man out in the process. Rowan wonders what possibly could have been so important to cause Cassian to miss his cue, but unfortunately, he doesn’t know the crass musician well enough to pry. Not like Aelin, who spent an entire summer partying at his side.

He’s quick to push aside all of the did-they, didn’t-they thought in his head. Whatever did or didn’t happen between Cassian and Aelin is not of his business, nor is it relevant now, all of these years later. Rowan is in no position to judge; he doesn’t have the right to be… jealous.

Rowan considers lurking backstage for a bit, to listen to the show a bit and hide from the crowd waiting to give him congratulations. He knows that he’d be able to snuff out why exactly Cassian missed his cue, but Rowan thinks of Thea, imagines the trouble that little girl of his must be giving to Evalin and Rhoe, and decides otherwise.

##  **See Cassian Guerra Miss His Entrance!**

Aelin and Thea are engaged in some kind of interpretive dance when Rowan finds them at last. They’ve made their own little makeshift dance floor, and others from the charity gala have joined them, dancing in pairs and enjoying the evening.

Thea’s brow is set in a serious line as she dances, and Aelin’s eyes sparkle with their usual mischief as she follows the little girl’s lead. The effect of her dancing is a bit different on him, though, and Rowan struggles not to watch Aelin’s hips as they sway, mirroring his daughter’s innocent wiggle. His mouth goes dry, and he looks away quickly, catching himself in the act again. Jeans that tight should be illegal.

Once upon a time, Rowan couldn't tell who was more afraid of who—Aelin or Thea. He’d always know that Aelin was cautious of children, that her inexperience interacting with them made her a little nervous. Rowan tries to ignore the twist of his gut at the thought. He reminds himself that Aelin’s never voiced her actual opinion about having kids of her own, and then he tells himself that he’s getting ahead of himself.

Either way, Rowan has enjoyed watching Aelin grow more confident with Thea. He knows that his daughter is a pretty easy-going kid, but people also love to tell him that the first kid is always easy. Thinking of himself as a child, Rowan isn’t sure that he agrees with that sentiment.

The secretive smile Aelin gives Thea is precisely how she cracked her way through the little girl’s guard. Thea perks up at whatever Aelin whispers in her ear, and when his daughter looks Rowan’s way, her entire face lights up with excitement. His little girl charges his way as he approaches, and Aelin aims her conspirator’s grin at him.

They’ve come so far. Better than he could have predicted.

The twinkle in Aelin’s eye makes his heart flop around pathetically in his chest. Rowan thinks he smiles back at her, but it must come out more like a grimace if the way Aelin’s face falters is any indication. Gods, Rowan is such an idiot. He can’t even work his fucking face right. How is he supposed to flirt with her?

“Daddy!” Thea barrels into him, squealing with laughter. She clutches his jeans as if her life depends on it, smiling up at Rowan with green eyes that look like his mother’s. He raises a brow at Aelin, who’s slinking her way over to them, grinning at the pair lazily.

She’s—Rowan doesn’t even know what word to use to describe how Aelin looks tonight, with her flawless makeup and her sky-high heels.

Breathtaking. Gorgeous. The best damn thing he’s ever—

“Oh, no!” Aelin cries. Her voice is over-animated, dramatized for the benefit of his daughter, and Rowan smiles at the sight, a dopey look that would absolutely get him made fun of by the band. “You _won_! You know what that means?”

Thea hops up and down, giggling at Aelin’s overplayed pout and nodding. “I get to dance with Daddy!”

“I was too slow,” Aelin bemoans, sending a meaningful look in Rowan’s direction. “I guess I’ll just have to ask Lorcan to dance with me.”

When Thea giggles, Aelin’s smile lights up her face in such a way that Rowan thinks he might die of happiness. He’s missed that expression on Aelin dearly. Rowan has noticed the change in Aelin; of course, he’s seen how well she’s been doing. Rowan may not know her secret, but he trusts that Aelin will tell him when she’s ready.

“Alright, Salvaterre!” Aelin barks at their friend, ruining the moment. Lorcan’s face barely moves, pretending not to hear a word she says. “Get your butt up. It’s time to dance!”

The twinge of disappointment Rowan feels in his chest is silly, but he’s sorry to miss out on a dance with Aelin. Rowan doesn’t even like to dance. But he’d dance for Aelin. And for Thea, who's tugging at his wrist and leading him to the dance floor.

Memories play in Rowan’s mind of a late-night writing session from another lifetime. Rowan has to swallow back the emotions clogging his throat before Aelin catches sight of them on his face; she’ll know exactly what he’s thinking. Aelin’s always been able to see right through Rowan.

“Come on!” Thea demands, urging him to hurry up. Aelin laughs, following after them and dragging a reluctant Lorcan with her.

“I see evil runs in the family,” Rowan tells Aelin, referring to how Evalin and her machinations got him to attend the event in the first place.

Aelin barks a laugh, smiling. Of course, she knows by now how her mother conned Rowan. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Rowan Whitethorn. I’m an angel.”

##  **Aelin Galathynius Shares Video, Dances With Lorcan Salvaterre.**

Rowan sips at the whiskey, hissing away the burn. Aelin spares him a smile before typing another note into her phone. Her frown pinches her immaculate brows together, and Rowan can’t stop staring at the way she bites her lip as she thinks.

And that’s when it hits Rowan that maybe he’s had a little too much to drink. He nudges the bottle away from his reach, trying to cut himself off.

“Okay,” Aelin says, sitting up straight. It tells Rowan that she’s about to sing, and he contemplates grabbing the guitar off the bed to accompany her. “How does this sound?”

> _I've been having a hard time adjusting I had the shiniest wheels, now they're rusting I didn't know if you'd care if I came back_ [ _I_ ](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fgenius.com%2FTaylor-swift-this-is-me-trying-lyrics%23note-20437946&t=NmI4ZTVhYjIzOWUxZWYxNDM2YWZjNTA1MDcwMzkyYmNmZmM1Njg2ZixlYmEzMGMyZjk2OTlhNzQwOWQ2YjNkMjU0ODU4MzA1Njc3MTRkMDIx&ts=1598185940) _have a lot of regrets about that_

Aelin coughs once, flashes him a guilty look, and then continues.

> _Pulled the car off the road to the lookout Could've followed my fears all the way down And maybe I don't quite know what to say But I'm here in your doorway_

Rowan beats a phantom tempo on his knee, and Aelin nods her head to the beat, pacing out the lyrics. The thought strikes through him that this feels a lot like old times, like the days of writing Noisy Neighbors in his crappy, old apartment and getting high and living life to the fullest.

Gods, he’s missed her. Missed this.

> _I just wanted you to know that this is me trying_ [ _I_ ](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fgenius.com%2FTaylor-swift-this-is-me-trying-lyrics%23note-20415962&t=MWM5OTlkZWY0YmM2N2Y3YWI0ODgzNzJkOWM0YmZhMWQ4ODg0ZDA5ZixiODc2N2RlMjlmYTAwYWFkODRlOWQ3NGVjNTE3ZmM0NjVlNDVmOGM2&ts=1598185940) _just wanted you to know that this is me trying_

Aelin stops there, glaring at her phone as if it holds all of the secrets. She reaches out with one hand and gestures for Rowan to pass her the bottle. He does without thinking, watches her take a little sip, and wonders if maybe he should have made her take a second thought.

No, Rowan tells himself. That’s not his place. Besides, they’ve indulged in wine at just about every Thea-Fleetfoot playdate, and Aelin hasn’t mentioned going sober to him. The lyrics to her duet with Ansel cross his mind, and Rowan frowns. Maybe she wants to be.

> _They told me all of my cages were mental So I got wasted like all my potential And my words shoot to kill when I'm mad I have a lot of regrets about that_

Aelin’s bottom lip wavers a little on that line, and Rowan sends her an encouraging smile. He knows without asking that this song is at least a little about their friendship. He’s not quite brave enough to voice the assumption, though. There’s not enough whiskey in this bottle for that.

> _I was so ahead of the curve, the curve became a sphere_

Rowan snorts at that one, and Aelin’s fist darts out quickly, giving him a jab in the bicep. His breath escapes him in a huff, and Aelin bites her lip to keep from smiling. He meets her eye, and she glares at him, eyes twinkling with mirth.

“I fucking like it, okay?” she hisses.

Rowan rolls his eyes, rubbing the muscle of his arm. She's got quite a hit when she's motivated. “You’re a dork.”

Aelin flips him off, but she resumes the verse, giving him a pointed look to continue his role as metronome. Rowan sighs in exaggeration and takes another swig from the bottle.

> _I was so ahead of the curve, the curve became a sphere Fell behind all my classmates and I ended up here Pouring out my heart to a stranger But I didn't pour the whiskey_

The last line silences him from saying anything else smart. Rowan swallows, wetting his lips.

> _I just wanted you to know that this is me trying_ [ _I_ ](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fgenius.com%2FTaylor-swift-this-is-me-trying-lyrics%23note-20415962&t=MWM5OTlkZWY0YmM2N2Y3YWI0ODgzNzJkOWM0YmZhMWQ4ODg0ZDA5ZixiODc2N2RlMjlmYTAwYWFkODRlOWQ3NGVjNTE3ZmM0NjVlNDVmOGM2&ts=1598185940) _just wanted you to know that this is me trying At least I'm trying_

Aelin doesn’t notice that he’s staring. She’s in the zone now, gone somewhere deep within the hidden recesses of her mind. She reads from the note in her phone, nodding to the music in her head and the beat Rowan taps out. He could watch her work all day.

> _And it's hard to be at a party when I feel like an open wound_ [ _I_ ](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fgenius.com%2FTaylor-swift-this-is-me-trying-lyrics%23note-20416223&t=MTRkMzY2ODY0YTM3NzlkNWFlYmY0NTU4YTQwNzdhNTJiYTBlZTZlMiwwZWQ2NTJmYWM1ZTc2YmIzNWFmYTFhOWVlMjMzMTA2OTg1ZWYzMDdk&ts=1598185940) _t's hard to be anywhere these days when all I want is you You're a flashback in a film reel on the one screen in my town_

She nearly had the entire song written by the time she found him. He only helped her fine-tune it.

> _And I just wanted you to know that this is me trying (And maybe I don't quite know what to say) I just wanted you to know that this is me trying At least I'm trying_

> There’s a long pause as Aelin returns to the present. Rowan knows he’s staring, but he can’t bring himself to stop. The whiskey is stronger than he thought.

Aelin looks at him, insecurity in her eyes. “How’s that?”

“It—” Rowan chokes on the emotion in his throat, coughing to clear his voice. Her smile turns wry, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She’s… afraid of what he’ll say. Aelin cares about his opinion. “It’s good. Great, even. Remind me what you needed me for?”

She rolls her eyes, blushing prettily—Rowan beams, pleased to invoke such a reaction from her. Aelin’s eyes go wide when she sees the time, and she swears. “I think it’s time to go home.”

##  **The After Party of the Year! See Pictures...**

It’s no surprise that Rowan wakes up first again. He’s always been an early riser, and Rowan doesn’t think he’s ever met someone who loves sleep as much as Aelin. He lets out a sigh and gives his limbs the slightest of stretches, and then Rowan remembers.

This morning, he’s entangled with Aelin rather than the victim of her aggressive cuddling. There’s no beating the silly smile that forms on his lips, and Rowan hides the expression into the crown of her hair. Aelin’s face is tucked against his throat, breathing him in. Her nose tickles the space between his collarbones.

Aelin’s arms are wrapped so tightly around his waist, that Rowan knows there’s no getting out of bed yet. Not that he has any desire to do so. Rowan can tell that he’ll be in a world of pain once he fully enters the world of the waking, and he’s not ready to pay for his vices yet. He snuggles in closer to Aelin and closes his eyes.

It’s an effort for Rowan to keep from smiling to big. He thinks that if he does so too much, it’ll wake his sleeping partner in crime, and then this quiet little moment will shatter. Rowan will have to let her go.

There’s no telling what time it is. Rowan is sure that his phone is dead by now, and Aelin’s the type of girl who leaves her phone in the most inconvenient of places. The room is pitch black, but Rowan suspects the curtains are of the blackout variety, blocking any and all light from waking the room’s occupant before she’s ready. It's probably late morning by now.

Rowan always assumed that the oversleeping was connected to Aelin’s drinking habits, her love for experimenting with substances. He never suspected, never stopped to consider, that the sleeping—and everything else—might be because of something else. Something bigger.

Before the guilt can push him over, Aelin groans. Her arms squeeze his middle tightly before letting him go altogether. Her voice is muffled as she rolls over, turning away from him and grabbing a pillow. It’s clear she’s complaining about something, though.

Rowan chuckles, frowning as the laughter only causes his head to throb. “What?”

“I said, you stink!” Aelin shouts unexpectedly, startling him and causing him to groan. “Fucking Buzzard.”

He chokes, offended by her language. Yet, Aelin’s never woken up very nicely.

“You’re mean,” he tells her, his voice full of accusation.

“I’m sleeping,” she bites back, but there’s no real heat.

Rowan thinks that Aelin is probably right about that. He sure had a hell of a lot to drink last night, and now it’s probably leaking out of his pores and making him smell like a distillery. Aelin curls around her pillow, mumbling something utterly incoherent.

The darkness of the room makes Rowan feel bold. He reaches out for Aelin’s slender frame and tugs her closer to him, soaking up her warmth. He thinks that he’ll regret this decision later, after sobering up, but right now, he isn’t all that worried.

“Your house is freezing,” he complains. It’s half a lie.

Aelin’s further protests are too low for Rowan to hear. They die as she dozes off at last, and Rowan sighs into the crook of her neck, content and comfortable. He’s gone before his brain can remind him of what a terrible decision he’s making.

##  **Aelin Galathynius Shares Photo of Sunrise:** _ **One Hell of A Night.**_

It could be hours or minutes later when Rowan wakes up again. Aelin is still fast asleep beside him, and he’s reluctant to leave her, let her go, but Rowan decides he’s more afraid of the reaction that their sleeping positions will garner. The last time she woke curled up with him, Aelin panicked.

A shower makes Rowan feel more human and smelling of Aelin’s shampoo. He changes begrudgingly into a set of clothes that Aelin must have left out for him. He recognizes the shirt as one he’d forgotten about owning.

The sweatpants, on the other hand, aren’t familiar, but they’ll fit. Rowan swallows back the sour taste in his mouth at the thought of wearing another man’s clothes, of why the owner of these pants needed extra clothes at Aelin’s apartment.

Whatever. Rowan will just do his laundry quickly and then get the hell out of them. Aelin was right; he smells awful. He can’t believe she stayed in that bed with him. Rowan needs coffee.

He’s struggling with Aelin’s overpriced and overly-complicated coffee machine, muttering all manner of obscenities its way, when a teasing voice interrupts.

“Need some help there?” Aelin asks, soft and doe-eyed.

But her smile is mocking. Rowan hates her and this machine. He growls his refusal, but Aelin ignores him, bumping his hip with hers to get him out of the way. She smiles sweetly at him, coaxing the machine to life with a few button presses. It irks him more than necessary.

Aelin laughs lightly, leaning against the counter with one hip popped to the side. Rowan’s eyes skim the length of her legs without permission, absorbing all of the tan skin on display in her dangerously short sleepwear. It makes his head spin.

His eyes find the hem of her shorts, and Rowan flushes, looking away quickly and clearing his throat. Yet, he doesn’t miss the pleased smile that Aelin wears. The quick motion makes him feel nauseous, though, and Rowan groans, bracing his hands against the counter to hang his head.

It’s been a while since Rowan last went so hard. He forgot about how much less fun it all was the next day.

“You probably need water more than you do coffee,” she tells him softly, surprising Rowan by trailing her fingers down his spine in a gesture of comfort. His nerves catch fire from her touch, and Rowan sucks in a little breath at the feeling.

When he remains quiet, she giggles softly, repeating the motion. “That bad, huh?”

Words fail him. Rowan grunts, and Aelin releases a breath of a laugh before running both of her hands down his back. The feeling is heaven, Aelin touching him like that, supportive and caring and intimate. He could stay like this all day.

“I’m sorry I let you drink so much,” Aelin apologizes. Her fingers skim his shoulders, and Rowan hisses as her cold fingers press into the hollow of his neck. “I assumed you knew what you were getting yourself into. You always feel terrible the next day.”

“Not your fault,” Rowan rasps. Another grunt escapes him as Aelin presses her thumbs into his neck beneath his skull, massaging away the tension there. He’s moments away from melting into the counter. Hell, he might fall back asleep.

“Mom always used to do this for me whenever I had a headache,” Aelin explains quietly. Her fingers slip down his neck and to his shoulders, working the stiff muscles. Rowan is unashamed to lean into her touch, sighing. Aelin’s voice turns sardonic. “She says it’s because I like to carry the weight of the world on my back. A bit hypocritical, if you ask me.”

Rowan manages to hum in agreement with Evalin. Aelin’s attention feels… really fucking great. Amazing. His eyes grow heavier by the minute as Aelin lulls him into a peaceful half-awake state. Aelin giggles, again, the sound barely more than an exhale.

He savors the rare display of affection from her. Though Rowan supposes, they’re not all that rare anymore. They’re always touching each other these days, little and brief moments of contact. He knows that he’s the biggest culprit, eager for any excuse to get his hands on her. It’s fucked, that he knows, but Rowan just _really_ likes touching her.

“Thanks,” he sighs. “That feels great.”

Aelin’s eyes are dark when he glances her way, and she chews on her bottom lip as she thinks over something. The little gesture is all it takes to have Rowan’s eyes pinned to her mouth. He licks his lips, weighing the pros and cons of just making a move already. He’s pretty sure it’ll go his way if Rowan tries; Aelin hasn’t done anything to convince him otherwise.

The coffee pot beeps, splitting his head in half. Rowan jolts away from her, groaning in pain. His skin suddenly feels too tight, too hot, and it’s all a little overwhelming. Rowan clears his throat, trying to gain control over himself, and he sends Aelin an apologetic smile for pulling away.

She’s already turned towards the coffee pot, silencing it. Rowan can see the disappointment clouding her face, presuming rejection.

“Aelin—“ he says, but his words fail him.

The woman in front of him laughs away the awkwardness, sending him a too-bright smile, and then she prepares their coffee. Aelin serves him first, a steaming hot cup of jet black liquid. It makes his heart do funny things, knowing that Aelin still remembers how he likes his coffee after all this time.

Rowan scoffs as he watches Aelin prepare her own drink, a combination of creamer and sugar with the tiniest bit of coffee. He thinks it’s more like a dessert than a morning beverage. Aelin raises her brow in a challenge at him, daring him to say something about, but the fire in her eyes makes his heart race. Whatever snark was prepped on the tip of his tongue escapes him; instead, Rowan mutters his thanks.

##  **Rowan Whitethorn’s Custom Guitar Collection...**

“What are you doing?” Aelin asks as she enters the living room, cradling her second dose of the sugary blasphemy she calls coffee. She sprawls across an armchair and takes a sip. “Shouldn’t you take Lucy back to your place? She’s your guitar.”

Rowan makes a grumpy sound in response. Lucy is a sore spot for him if he’s being honest with himself. Aelin tried so many times to return the Fender to him after ending their friendship, but Rowan refused to accept the guitar back. Lyria always thought it was because the guitar reminded Rowan too much of Aelin, but the truth was much more straightforward.

“Because her home is here,” Rowan tells Aelin, too afraid to look her way at first.

Aelin rolls her eyes at him, cracking a smile. The awkwardness from earlier seems to have faded at last, but Rowan can still feel the ghost of Aelin’s fingers on his back, can still hear her breathless voice as she soothed his hangover.

Her expression falters, and Aelin looks away, frowning. “Is that why you kept returning her?”

“Not exactly,” Rowan says, but he furrows his brow and thinks it over. “Okay, maybe a bit,” he finally admits. “Though, the biggest reason had to be because I felt that if you wanted to get rid of Lucy, to sever all your ties to me—”

His voice breaks a little, and Rowan has to swallow back the old anger that returns. The memory of that first courier showing up with his battered guitar case and a freshly repaired and polished Lucy makes his head spin, and Rowan isn’t feeling up to processing all of those feelings.

Aelin waits, guilt and shame clouding her eyes.

“I felt that if you were going to really do that, that you should have to do it to my face,” he finishes, securing Lucy to the wall in her spot amongst Aelin’s instruments. She really has quite the collection in this apartment. “I wanted you to look me in the eye and tell me that you were done with me.”

Rowan stares at the wall to avoid Aelin. He hears her set her coffee cup on the table and her heavy exhale. Aelin probably wasn’t expecting such an in-depth answer to her seemingly innocent question. He wants to feel a little bad about it, but at the same time, Rowan needs to get the words out. Besides, she asked.

When Aelin ditched him, Rowan was angry. He was furious with her, and it took him a long time to figure out that the feeling was misplaced. Rowan was more upset with himself than anyone else in his life; his actions were his own to make, and there wasn’t anybody else to blame.

He startles when Aelin’s arms wrap around his middle, and she presses her face into the space between his shoulder blades, hugging him tightly around the middle. Sometimes it’s more comfortable like this, talking about feelings without having to look at each other.

“I couldn’t be done with you if I tried,” she admits, squeezing his ribs. Rowan’s hands rest atop hers, and he leans into her, agreeing with her words silently. “And believe me when I say I did try.”

Rowan sighs. He doesn’t know what to say to that. “Me, too, Ace,” he says softly. “Me, too.”

Rowan didn’t know that something could simultaneously heal and hurt him at the same time. But Rowan doesn’t know a lot of things. He has no idea how to throw a three-year-old, pink-loving little girl a birthday party, and he sure as hell has no idea what’s gotten into Aelin these days.

But Rowan does know this: he loves Aelin.

##  **Rowan Whitethorn and Aelin Galathynius Have Lunch, Fuel Rumors...**


	6. Chapter 48.5

##  **Aelin Galathynius Storms Out of Adarlan Records!**

Rowan waits impatiently for the phone to stop ringing; he’s sitting in his car, tapping out some unidentified rhythm as he waits for Lysandra to answer the phone. If Lorcan we’re here, the tapping would turn into a whole production, incorporating the sounds created by the steering wheel, the dash, the window—whatever was in reach of the drummer’s long wingspan. For now, it was just a sign of Rowan’s anxiety.

Tap. Tap-tap. Tap. Tap. Tap-tap.

It is kind of a last-minute favor. Rowan prays that the supermodel is free from her many obligations. He’s heard Aelin’s many complaints about the busy model; between wedding planning and her career, Lysandra hasn’t had a lot of downtime lately.

Guilt stings Rowan’s conscience at the thought. He imagines that the last thing Lysandra wants to do, assuming she does have downtime, is babysit for him. He hates how he’s always leaning so heavily on Lysandra and Aedion. Aelin’s parents, too. Rowan’s always prided himself on being independent. He doesn’t know how he lost that self-sufficiency.

Perhaps, that’s not wholly true. Rowan lost the ability to juggle everything in his life the night that a cop knocked on his door and offered him a ride to the hospital. They told him his wife had died, but his daughter was okay if a little bruised.

Suddenly, he was spread too thin and very, very angry about it. There were so many _things_ for him to do, and there wasn’t enough of him to do it all. But he wasn’t supposed to have to. Rowan was supposed to have Lyria, even if they were no longer together. He was supposed to have help—

“Earth to _Rowan Whitethorn!_ ” Lysandra snaps him out of his spiral. Rowan shakes off the guilt and grief, shoving it down into the little cage in his heart where he keeps it locked away. “ _Gods_ , did you butt dial be? What year is this? I will never let you live this down.”

“I’m here,” he says. Rowan stops to clear the rough emotion from his voice. “I… got distracted.

“What is it?” Lysandra asks quickly, worried. “What’s wrong?”

Rowan sighs. “Nothing is wrong, I just need—”

“You _sound_ like something is wrong,” Lysandra cuts him off. She never lets anyone get away with anything. The woman will make one hell of a mother one day; once, she finally lets Aedion make her one.

“Lys,” he pleads. “It’s fine. I’ve got it.”

A long pause. Rowan can make out Lysandra’s face in his mind. She must be giving the phone her signature _You’re an idiot_ face. He waits for her to speak.

“What’s it?” she pries, just as impossible as her best friend. Lysandra even kind of sounds like Aelin, impetuous and bossy.

The thought of Aelin makes Rowan focus. It was hard enough to sit through his meeting knowing that Aelin was in a room alone with Havilliard Sr. The guy was an ass, and Rowan trusted very few people less than he trusted him.

“Aelin texted. She asked for me to meet her at the Rift,” he admits finally. “I was hoping that Thea’s really awesome aunt would pick her up from daycare.”

“What’s Aelin at the Rift for?” Lys sounds worried, and rightfully so, it’s been a long time since Aelin stepped foot in a club. She’s been good as of late; Rowan prays she hasn’t gone on a crazy bender. It’s barely past lunch.

Not that Rowan could blame her. And he hates how her relapse is his first concern. It’s not that he doesn’t trust her. He’s just—Rowan’s really fucking worried for her.

“She’s had a shit day,” Rowan explains vaguely. It’s up to Aelin to fill in the gaps for everybody, including him. “I want to make sure she’s not freaking out about… everything.”

Rowan chokes on the last word. If Aelin’s reconsidering what’s happened between them… he’ll be ruined. He’s been riding a high these last few days, but Aelin’s last few texts were both illiterate and worrying. Rowan’s been so happy; he was afraid it was about to end.

“Everything?” Lysandra asks, and Rowan realizes that he’s just made a terrible mistake. It’s also a horrible sign. If Lys doesn’t know what’s happened, it’s because Aelin hasn’t told her.

“Wait, like, _everything_?” the model asks for clarification. She doesn't wait for Rowan to answer. “You and Aelin— _everything_? Oh, I’m going to murder her. She keeps all of the good stuff from me.”

“Lys,” Rowan sighs, feeling anxious and ready to face Aelin. “Can you pick up Thea?”

Lysandra’s tune changes immediately. “Oh, yeah, totally. You’re not getting her back tonight, though,” she tells the father casually. Rowan rolls his eyes; she’s always stealing his kid from him. “Aedion is out of town, and I need company.”

Her words make Rowan smile. “Thanks, Lys.”

“Tell Aelin that I’m going to murder her when I see her,” Lysandra tells him earnestly. Rowan doesn’t doubt the tenacious woman for a second. “Have a goodnight!”

The call ends before Rowan knows it. He laughs and tosses the phone on the passenger seat. It’s time to go find Aelin.

##  **Rowan Whitethorn Nominated for Songwriter, Song of the Year Award.**

It feels like the gods are working against him when Rowan arrives at the club only to find Aelin drinking with Chaol watching over her. Two exes—three if he counted that idiot Dorian, wherever he was hiding—seemed rather unlucky. Even for Rowan, who’s always had shit luck in life.

To make matters worse, Aelin is _flirting_.

Rowan reminds himself quickly that Aelin is always flirting, even when she’s actively trying not to. She’s a flirt. It’s her nature. In fact, it’s when Aelin’s flirting is miserable that it counts. She’s never been good at it when it matters. It means someone’s gotten under her skin.

And yet, the word _bodyguard_ pours from her lips like honey, betraying the familiarity between Aelin and Chaol. It makes Rowan sick, and the feeling wraps around his heart, constricting it until he thinks he might pass out. He’s not proud of it, but Rowan feels…

Insecure. Doubtful. Chaol was in Aelin’s life when Rowan wasn’t. Chaol kept her safe while she was coasting down a path of self-hate and misery, while Rowan drowned in his own pity and selfishness. Rowan wouldn’t blame Aelin if she still felt something for the guy; Chaol certainly has a better track record with Aelin than Rowan does.

Just when he’s thinking of turning around and running away, Rowan speaks up. He can’t not. Aelin is waiting for him, or she’s supposed to be.

“Ace,” Rowan knows his voice belies his insecurity. “You ready to go home?”

“BABY!” Aelin’s smiles at him, the sun parting the clouds on a rainy day. It makes Rowan’s heart race and his head spin. It just makes him so happy; he never thought he’d be the recipient of that kind of happiness, not from Aelin.

“Just how drunk are you?” Rowan asks her, tucking her hair behind her ear. She leans happily into his touch.

Aelin frowns adorably, thinking over his question. The wrinkle on her forehead tells Rowan she has to work much too hard to form an answer. Her eyes light up mischievously, and Aelin pinches two fingers together as if to say _Just a little._

The empty shot glasses on the bartop say _A lot_.

Worry and fondness mix in his heart. Rowan loves a saucy, drunk Aelin; she’s tons of fun and a center point for some of his favorite stories. Yet, Rowan hates when the reason for Aelin’s drinking isn’t because she feels like enjoying herself but rather, because she feels like running away from herself.

“Today sucked!” Aelin says merrily.

Rowan runs a hand down her arm, marveling in the rightness of the little gesture. He loves that he gets to do that now, loves even more how Aelin leans into his touch subconsciously, chasing contact with him. It makes him feel a little more confident, so Rowan offers to take her home to talk.

“Can we make out instead?” Aelin says far too loudly. Rowan cracks a smile at that, momentarily forgetting his concerns. He won’t lie; he likes how Aelin says it loud and proud, despite Chaol standing just on the other side of the bar. Aelin tells him, “That sounds like more fun.”

The other man leaves them, but Aelin doesn’t even seem to notice. She smiles prettily at Rowan, far too chipper for the day she must have had. Rowan couldn’t fight the smile stretching across his face if he wanted to. _Aelin wanted to make out with him._

Rowan suddenly feels like a teenager again, giddy with excitement because the prettiest girl in his class told him that she liked his glasses. His nerves make him laugh, and Rowan prays Aelin doesn’t see through it. She’d never let him live it down. She loves to tease him, and she’s merciless when she does so.

“If you want,” Rowan tells her. His answer pleases Aelin.

“Cool!” she chirps, hopping off of the barstool and stumbling over her feet.

Rowan is quick on his feet, already prepared for a disaster. This isn’t his first run-in with a tipsy Aelin; she’s a klutz. He catches her by the shoulders, and Aelin bursts in laughter, tossing her head back and shaking her shoulders. Rowan grins.

The moment turns soft. Aelin reaches for him, sliding her hands across his stomach and then his waist. She links them behind his back and presses her face into his chest, taking in a deep breath. Happily, Rowan hugs her close, cupping the back of her head like she’s something breakable. He knows better than most just how true it is. Aelin releases all of the tension in her body with a sigh, melting into him and hugging him closer.

“I like you,” Aelin says at last. The words mean more than either of them are ready to admit, especially Rowan.

Still, he laughs at her as she nuzzles her face into his t-shirt. Aelin’s eyes are closed, and Rowan suspects that if they stay this way much longer, she’ll fall asleep on her feet. Life on the road taught all of them to sleep whenever and however possible.

“I like you, too, Aelin,” Rowan says, voice whisper-soft. He can’t resist pressing his lips to the top of her head. “Now, let’s get out of here.”

##  **Aelin Galathynius Spotted Leaving the Rift with Rowan Whitethorn After Fight with Record Label.**

“Where’s your detail?” Rowan asks as they drive. It’s a question that’s been plaguing him since Aelin called and asked for a ride home. She had a team of people to escort her around the city—around the world, but they just left her drinking at a closed club on a Monday afternoon?

“I told them I had a top-secret meeting with Dorian,” Aelin mumbles. She smiles secretively at him. “I’m supposed to call them to tell them to come get me.” A pause, and then she says with a giggle, “Oops.”

“Ae,” he says, biting back the frustration. “You gotta be careful.”

Aelin glares at him. “I don’t want to spend all of my time under lock and key,” she mutters, aggravated by his fussing. Rowan sighs. He knows how much she hates it, but it’s just not safe for her. People are fucking crazy.

“And I’m not going to,” she sniffs, jerking her head away from him. Aelin looks out the window, putting an end to the conversation.

Rowan resists the urge to get into it with her. He’ll save that battle for another day; it doesn’t seem like the kind of conversation they should have while Aelin is intoxicated anyway. He pulls up to her house, praying that the media storm is more of a shower today. Aelin doesn’t need a bunch of people reporting about her day drinking.

“I don’t want to go in there,” she says remorsefully. Aelin turns to him with pleading eyes, forgetting her temper, and Rowan’s heart aches at the sight of the vulnerability. “Can we go to your house? I like it there more. No one looks for me there.”

“Sure, Ae,” he relents easily. How could he even dream of saying no?

“Wait!” Aelin cries before he can pull away. Rowan looks at her with wide eyes, hitting the brakes. “You have to go inside and get Fleetfoot. I can’t leave her alone all night.”

And that is how Rowan finds himself in Aelin’s townhouse for the second time that day, bribing her dog once more for entry with a treat. Fleetfoot doesn’t particularly care for Rowan, of that, the man is well aware, but she likes him better with a dog biscuit in his hands. It’s exactly how Rowan manages to bribe Fleetfoot onto a leash.

Back in the car, Fleetfoot yips with excitement in the back seat, thrilled to find her mother waiting for her. Aelin blabbers all kinds of nonsense to her pet, and Rowan laughs when she crawls between the front seats into the back. He nearly comes to tears when her hips get stuck between the front seats. Rowan has plans to tease her endlessly for this.

“You’re so drunk,” he says, smiling at her through the rearview mirror. Aelin hardly hears him, too preoccupied with pulling her dog’s cheeks into funny shapes. Fleetfoot’s tongue lolls out the side of her mouth.

“Who’s a good puppy?” the drunk woman in the back of Rowan’s car asks her dog. “That’s right! _You are_! Fleetfoot is a good puppy!”

Rowan rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling. He’ll talk to Aelin later, he decides. First, Rowan will let her enjoy herself in the safety of his home, and then he’ll snuggle with her in his bed while she sobers up. He trusts Aelin will tell him what’s wrong when she’s ready. For now, Rowan’s going to take care of the woman he loves. The rest can wait.

##  **Aelin Galathynius... Single or Taken?**


	7. 49.5

##  **Rowan Whitethorn and Aelin Galathynius Leave The Rift Looking Cozy.**

Imagine Rowan’s surprise when Aelin bursts into tears. He watches the woman twirl around in his apartment, wearing a look of absolute horror. He’s not expecting her to say, “We forgot her!”

“What?” he asks, stunned and confused.

Aelin wipes furiously at the tears in her eyes, and Rowan wonders at just how much the woman had to drink before he arrived at the nightclub. Another reason for Rowan to deck Dorian in his stupid face. The guy was always there when Aelin wanted to sink into her vices and hide from her problems. Couldn’t he be a better influence?

“We have to go pick her up!” Aelin wails, sniffling loudly. Rowan thinks he might die if she keeps crying; he hates it when she cries. “Thea is _waiting_ for us, Rowan!”

Warmth spreads through his body, and Rowan beams at the woman crying in his living room. Aelin scowls at him, looking a lot like she did the first time she ever boxed him in the face. He’d been a total asshole, and he’d deserved every ache that black eye gave him in the following days.

“What’s so funny?” The woman hisses at him.

The need to touch her becomes overwhelming. Rowan reaches for her, wrapping his arms around the small of her waist and enclosing her in a hug. Aelin hesitates at first, rightly mad at him for his amusement at her expense.

She melts into him when Rowan kisses her hair and explains the situation. Her face relaxes, and Aelin blushes prettily, embarrassed by her jump to anger. Rowan resists a chuckle and brushes away her unmanageable hair. He loves it when she gets all disheveled and imperfect. To him, Aelin’s never looked better than when she’s dressed down.

“Thank you for caring so much about her,” Rowan tells her earnestly, emotions swirling in his heart and making him feel ten kinds of overwhelmed. “It means the world to me.”

“Thea’s awesome,” Aelin tells him with the kind of seriousness only a drunk person could manage. “Kid’s way cooler than you are.”

He laughs at that. “No telling where she got it from.”

Rowan watches Aelin as she giggles, carefree and drunk and beautiful. He’s dying to know what happened during her meeting with Havilliard Sr., but he also doesn’t want to bring down the infectious good mood that Aelin is in. He could watch this woman smile all day and be very happy with it.

Then Aelin turns her heated gaze his way, and Rowan’s mind goes blank. He swallows nothing, trying to think of something witty to say to redirect her attention. Rowan has enjoyed all of her unnecessary brushes against him; her purposeful touches with an innocent smile. Still, it doesn’t feel right to let Aelin throw herself at him with her inhibitions low.

“You looking for something, Ace?” Rowan asks, marveling at the confidence that he exudes. It’s all a fucking lie. Inside, he’s dying—all nerves and second guesses. Aelin shivers at the sound of his voice, and Rowan brushes his fingers across her lips, enjoying the way they part for him.

It still doesn’t seem real to him that Aelin would feel this way about him, that she would _want_ him like this. Rowan spent so long trying to convince himself otherwise; it’s hard to reconcile the truth with his delusions.

Aelin gives him the most adorable pout. Rowan considers ending both of their sufferings and just kissing her, but Aelin is very drunk. Not that she seems to care.

“You said that we could make out.” It’s not a question. Rowan chuckles at her directness; he’s always loved that about Aelin. The woman has no filter, saying anything and everything that comes to her mind. She has a way of keeping Rowan on his toes.

He smiles, releasing her face and brushing the sides of her arms. “I did.”

“Then why aren’t we?” Aelin says in a breathy voice that Rowan’s only gotten to know recently. It tiptoes down his spine and makes his pulse thrum; all of the blood in his body flies south on instinct. It’s very unfair of her to sound like that when he can’t do anything about it.

“Because,” Rowan explains, having to pause to clear his voice. Aelin’s hands are on his chest now, rubbing his body in a very distracting manner. The smile on her face tells Rowan that Aelin knows what she’s doing. It’s very unfair of her. “I didn’t want to presume.”

An Aelin signature-snort. “Rowan Whitethorn, I am drunk. And I want to do very naughty things to you. Preferably naked. And loudly.”

Rowan swears an oath, and his hands drop to her hips to hold onto her. He’s resigned to keep from doing anything that might make Aelin uncomfortable in the morning, something that would make him hate himself beyond relief. Aelin, however, appears to have made it her mission in life to make such a task as difficult as possible.

The pair have always been tactile in their affections to one another, even back when neither Aelin nor Rowan could admit the depth of what it meant. At this moment, Rowan finds that fact about them to be torture. He’s learned since then exactly how those hands of hers can make him feel; Rowan has known the extent of what those long, tapered fingers of Aelin’s can bring out of him. And he wouldn’t mind experiencing a little bit more of that.

“You can’t just say shit like that,” he warns her. Pleads for merc, begs for it. Taking home a drunk Aelin is perhaps the worst decision Rowan has ever made.

“Have you met me?” A smile just for him. “I’m full of shit.”

Laughter bursts from him. Rowan has never heard a more accurate statement in his life. His voice is lighthearted. “Nice, Aelin,” he teases. “Very sexy.”

But the woman in front of him takes his words as a challenge. Aelin’s turquoise and gold eyes sparkle, and she reaches for the hem of her shirt, yanking it off without a care. Rowan’s mind goes blank. That’s just playing dirty.

Rowan's eyes track the motion. His hands float in front of her, wanting to touch her but not willing to do so without permission. Aelin bites her lip shyly as if she’s only just realized what she’s done and is questioning her decision.

“How about now?” she asks him, her voice breathless and lovely.

He loses it. Rowan just… _kisses her._ And he probably would have let Aelin and that smile of hers talk him into just about anything if it weren’t for his conscience. Rowan loves this woman, and he doesn’t want to overstep their very blurry boundaries. Everything is so new to them. He’s only just got her; he can’t risk losing her.

##  **Is She Leaving Adarlan Records? Aelin Galathynius Declines to Comment.**

Once he finishes their very adult dinner, Rowan finds Aelin exactly where she promised she’d be—submerged in his nearly overflowing bathtub. Rowan smiles at the sight of Aelin’s blonde hair piled atop her head in a messy knot. It’s been such a long time, at least by Aelin’s standards, since she last dyed it. The natural color has reappeared, or something close to it.

Not that Rowan is complaining; he’s always liked her natural shade best. Rowan would never say as much, though, and risk discouraging Aelin from something he knows she loves to do.

“We need to wash your hair, Fleetfoot,” Aelin tells her dog very seriously.

He bites back a smile as Aelin scoops the bubbles out of the bath and places them on the dog's head, right between her ears. Fleetfoot sits at attention, accepting her mother’s attention in whatever way Aelin deigns to offer it. Rowan isn’t even sure where she managed to find bubbles for her bath. A question for another time.

Aelin takes a long look at her dog and giggles happily before blowing the bubbles off of Fleetfoot’s head. Her canine companion thumps her tail happily against the floor, recognizing the laughter as a good sign. She’s a good dog; Rowan could never find it in himself to say otherwise.

“Your chicken nuggets are done, Your Majesty,” Rowan interrupts the fun.

Aelin lets out a shrill gasp, and Fleetfoot yips, matching the woman’s excitement. Rowan hurries to meet Aelin as she rushes out of the bath, taking a precarious step over the side of the porcelain tub. He meets her with a towel and wraps it around those beautiful curves of hers. They’ve slowly returned to her, and Rowan is glad for it, even if he knows Aelin isn’t out of the woods yet on such a matter.

Rowan will just keep telling Aelin that she’s perfect until she believes it herself.

He kisses her forehead and smiles. “You’re cute like this.”

A goofy smile spreads across Aelin’s face in response, and she leans into him heavily, nuzzling her wet face into his chest. Rowan grins happily, enjoying all the affection despite the water. He could get very used to this, but the thought doesn’t scare Rowan as much as he thought it might.

##  **Former The Cadre Member, Rowan Whitethorn, Nominated for Song,** _ **Divide.**_

“Did you _bake_ the chicken nuggets?” Aelin exclaims, eyeing the food on her plate with questioning eyes. Rowan scoffs at her, carrying both of their plates toward the living room. Aelin trails after him, wearing his stolen band t-shirt and looking far too attractive for Rowan’s sake.

Aelin doesn’t let the topic go; however, asking, “Don’t you own a microwave?”

“Considering you’re the one who gets the most use out of it,” Rowan teases her, “you know that I do.”

Aelin huffs and drops backward onto the couch beside Rowan. Her weight shifts the sofa and nearly sends the food in Rowan’s hands flying, but the man just manages to recover. This is why Rowan doesn’t eat in the living room; between Aelin and Thea it’s just a disaster waiting to happen.

“You’re such an overachiever,” she whines, accepting her plate from him. Aelin bites into a t-rex shaped dinosaur and lets out a sinful moan. “Fuck! This is good.”

Rowan huffs a laugh. Aelin shouldn’t be allowed to make sounds like that outside of the bedroom; it’s going to embarrass him one day.

“Can we watch the cooking channel?” Aelin asks innocently a little while later. Rowan huffs a laugh, but he does as requested, powerless to resist her. The show that plays appears to be a competition of some sort. He chuckles when she gasps in excitement.

“I _love_ this one!” she cries. And that settles it.

At first, he watches Aelin, admiring her wide eyes as she allows herself to get drawn into the television show. Despite his reservations, Rowan soon joins her; he’s always had a penchant for cooking, though Rowan has never shared Aelin’s obsession with watching other people do it. They start to discuss who should have won, arguing over their picks and mocking the other’s failure.

“See?” Aelin cries, shaking her plate of half-eaten nuggets. She’s a monster; Rowan loves it. “I told you that my guy’s food was way better. The other one just used an ingredient as a _garnish_.”

“I never thought I’d hear you say the word garnish,” Rowan teases, poking Aelin in the side playfully. Aelin flips him off, and Rowan laughs at her attitude. “I can’t believe you even know what a garnish is.”

Aelin is still pouting at him as she abandons her food and curls into Rowan’s side. He knows his smile is too big for his face as he wraps his arms around her shoulders. Aelin sighs and throws an arm over his waist to be more comfortable.

Rowan turns off the television when he notices her drooping eyes. “Let’s go to be, Ace. It’ll be more comfortable.”

The sleepy woman in his arms mutters a protest when they move; though, Aelin allows Rowan to guide her towards his room and the comfort of his bed. Aelin snuggles into his side quickly, throwing a leg over him and wrapping Rowan in her vice grip. He threads his fingers into her hair, feeling suddenly lethargic himself. It’s comfortable like this, with Aelin safely in his arms.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about my plans to rock your world, Rowan Whitethorn,” she mumbles into his shirt. Aelin muffles a yawn by pressing her face into his chest. “Just you wait until I wake up from my nap.”

Rowan snorts at the woman in his arms and presses a kiss to the top of her head. “You’re impossible,” he says, laughter lining his voice. “Get some sleep, Aelin. You can have your way with me later.”

“Good,” she says, and Aelin falls asleep.

##  **Will Former Co-Writers, Aelin Galathynius and Rowan Whitethorn, Compete Against Each Other For** _ **Best Song**_ **?**

Rowan wakes up in the middle of the night and reaches for Aelin, but the bed is empty. He blindly reaches a few times, searching for her amongst the covers, and only opens his eyes when he comes up short. Aelin is gone, but Fleetfoot snores at the end of his bed, taking up his foot space.

He pulls on a pair of sweats and goes in search of his girlfriend—if that was what he could call her. It’s what Rowan wanted to call her, but it required a conversation and a question. And maybe an admission, too.

Aelin isn’t in the bathroom when he looks. Or the living room. Rowan checks just about every obvious place that he might find Aelin, and he starts to panic with each empty space. He’s starting to get very worried when he hears it—the soft strum of a guitar and Aelin’s gentle singing.

_Head stuck in a cycle, I look off and I stare_

_It's like that I've stopped breathing, but completely aware_

_'Cause you're giving me a million reasons_

He follows the singing towards the laundry room of all places. Aelin sits on the ground, dressed in his stolen t-shirt, and holding his guitar. She doesn’t notice him immediately, fiddling with the chords, and muttering the lyrics in her head. Aelin’s phone records the moment, making notes for her to review later.

Rowan knows that he should probably announce himself, but it’s too tempting just to watch her work.

_And if you say something that you might even mean_

_It's hard to even fathom which parts I should believe_

_'Cause you're giving me a million reasons_

Aelin glances up, nothing more than pure chance, and notices him standing there. Her smile is warm and welcoming, and Rowan takes it as permission to join her on the floor. Aelin sings another word or two before stopping, sending him a sheepish smile.

“Sorry,” she apologizes. “I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

Rowan shakes his head no. “You weren’t in bed. I was... worried.”

Aelin sends him a small, soft smile. She glances down at the notes on her phone, and then she says, “I was inspired.”

“I hope that’s not my doing,” he jokes about the tone of the lyrics he’d overheard. Rowan aims for lightheartedness, but he’d be lying if he told Aelin it didn’t concern him. Singing songs about doubting a relationship is not the way any man wants to find his girl. And Aelin’s writing has always been a window to her soul.

Her grin is broad, and she laughs softly, shaking her head and relieving him of his worries. Aelin stretches a leg out and drops it into his lap; Rowan accepts the little point of contact happily, wrapping his fingers around her ankle and drawing circles with his thumb.

“So, then what are you doing hiding here?” Rowan asks, gesturing to the laundry he’s yet to tackle. “Do you find dirty toddler clothes inspiring?”

Aelin kicks him lightly with the foot he holds, and they both laugh. “I didn’t want to wake you up,” she admits, smiling guiltily. “This was the farthest I could get away from the bedroom.”

“You know the music room is soundproof, right?” Rowan tells her with a grin. Aelin’s eyes widen, and a lovely blush spreads across her cheeks. “I’m not a complete neanderthal. I have a kid and a really inconvenient work schedule.”

“I— _shit_ ,” she sighs the word, laughing softly. “I guess that makes sense.”

Rowan takes a moment to watch her, enjoying how Aelin fidgets under his attention. She’s too adorable like this—sexy, too. With sex-mussed hair and nothing but his shirt hanging from her shoulders… It does very good things for Rowan.

“So,” he says, clearing his throat and returning to the task at hand. He eyes his guitar pointedly. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Aelin hesitates for a split second. She stutters when she speaks, “R-really?”

“Really,” Rowan confirms. His confidence waves. “If that’s okay.”

“It’s okay.” Her smile is blinding. Aelin clears her throat and resituates the guitar in her lap. Rowan tries not to frown as she reclaims her leg from him, but it’d be an awkward position to play in. A nervous laugh escapes her.

Rowan flashes her a kind, encouraging smile. He loves how Aelin can sing in front of a stadium with tens of thousands of people in it, but she gets nervous when it’s just the two of them. Aelin clears her throat and strums the guitar in a little test as Rowan makes himself comfortable, settling in for his private performance.

No one has to tell Rowan for him to know that he’s a lucky son of a bitch.

##  _**No Comment—**_ **Aelin Galathynius’s Camp Declines to Confirm Relationship with Rowan Whitethorn.**


	8. 51.5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look at what happened between Rhoe and Rowan in the study...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Rowan POV! No “normal” update of NN this weekend as I posted the newest chapter Wednesday and the next isn’t quite ready. Disclaimer that the majority of this chapter is smut. And I didn’t reread it because I hate rereading my smut, so sorry for the typos.

##  **The Vast Portfolio of Songwriter Rowan Whitethorn.**

His girlfriend is a horrible traitor. That’s the thought running through Rowan’s head as he takes a seat in the study, watching as his girlfriend’s father peruses the whiskey selection. Rowan should have known better than to trust Aelin to have his back when it came to her parents; of course, she threw him to the wolves the very first chance she got.

“You’re sitting in my chair.” Rhoe’s stern voice jolts Rowan from the chair, and Aelin’s father laughs outright at the nervous boyfriend. Aelin’s smile looks just like her father’s; Rowan doesn’t find that to be very comforting.

“Gods, boy,” Rhoe says through his smile. “I’m only kidding. Sit back down.”

Rowan sits down slowly. His laugh is nervous as hell. “Right.”

“There’s no reason to be scared of me,” Rhoe thinks aloud. He picks up a bottle from the shelf and examines it before giving a nod of approval. “Except for the fact that I have the money and means to hire a hitman to take care of you.”

Rhoe chuckles and pops open the bottle. “How do you like your whiskey, Rowan? Neat or on the rocks?”

“Neat.” Rowan sounds an awful lot like his daughter right after he’s caught her doing something wrong.

“Good man,” Rhoe approves, pouring the whiskey. His grin is fiendish as he hands Rowan the glass; perhaps, his girlfriend’s father has poisoned the liquor. “Of course, there’s always Aedion to worry about. The man _is_ a trained killer.” A smile. “And he’s free of charge. I do like free.”

Rowan chokes on his drink. The study fills with Rhoe’s laughter.

“You make it too easy, boy.” Rhoe slaps Rowan’s shoulder roughly, and he winces. “You’ll never survive my daughter at this rate.”

“Don’t I know it,” Rowan says before he can stop himself. He flushes. “I mean—”

“Evalin _still_ talks circles around me some days,” Rhoe admits with a smile, “I think the Ashryvers just like to make people flustered. They're so good at it, too.”

Rowan thinks of the Ashryver cousins, always toeing the line between bickering and bantering with one another; he recalls Evalin’s knowing smiles and sly commentary. Yes, there was definitely something about those Ashryvers.

Rhoe shares a smile with him. “Welcome to the family, Rowan. We’re delighted to have you and Thea.”

##  **Rowan Whitethorn in Line to Win Songwriter Award.**

After dinner, Aelin’s parents usher them into the family room to relax by the fire. Rowan tries to help with cleanup, offering to do the dishes for Evalin, but she and Rhoe refuse to accept his help. Instead, they order him back to the living room with “the girls.” Rowan’s too afraid of them to put up much of a fight, but the phrase does bring a smile to his face. So he does as he was told and goes looking for the pair in question.

Rowan finds them curled up in an armchair by the fire. His daughter is perched on Aelin’s lap in a stunning display of patience while Aelin weaves her hair into an intricate plait. Thea smiles brightly at her father when she notices Rowan; Aelin shoots a wink at him over the girl’s head before getting back to work.

“Do I look pretty, Daddy?” Thea asks when Aelin finishes. “Aelin braided my hair!”

The words come quickly, and Rowan translates the toddler-speak to the best of his ability. He’s had a lot of practice; Thea is his number one source of companionship, though Aelin makes a very close second. Thea does a little twirl to show off her hair, and Aelin smiles widely at them, looking inclined to cry with happiness in that way of hers.

Rowan kneels on Thea’s level, smiling at his little girl. “You look _beautiful_!”

The toddler jumps up and down in excitement. “Now, you!”

“Me?” he asks.

“You!” Thea proclaims. “Aelin will give you princess braids.”

Rowan turns to his girlfriend, a question in his eyes, but Aelin just giggles at the duo. “Get over here, Buzzard.” She waves him over. “We’ll turn you into a _princess_ yet.”

Thea cheers as her father heads for Aelin. His girlfriend wiggles her fingers at him, inviting him to sit on the floor between her legs. Rowan can’t resist the urge to send her a suggestive look as he kneels in front of her; Aelin’s eyes light up at the sight of his naughty expression. Her matching grin steals the breath from his lungs and makes his heart race.

Rowan sits facing away from her, biting back the soft groan that threatens when Aelin buries her fingers in his hair, and Aelin scratches his scalp in a way that she knows always makes Rowan melt. Gods, he loves it when she plays with his hair. Rowan thinks his girlfriend is cruel as Aelin rubs her fingers into his neck and shoulders, too. Rowan groans softly; she knows exactly what she’s doing to him.

“Don’t make me embarrass myself,” Rowan mumbles to her. Aelin laughs sinfully at that, running her hands down his back and then up to his shoulders. She presses a soft kiss behind his left ear, and then Aelin ends the torture.

“Your hair has gotten pretty long, Buzzard,” Aelin teases.

Rowan grunts his displeasure. “I know I need a haircut. I just haven’t had the time.”

“I don’t know,” Aelin muses, shaping the hair to her liking. Rowan isn’t about to complain about having his hair played with some more. “I kind of like it longer on the top like this so I can play with it.” She tugs on the ends a little in emphasis, and Rowan shivers.

“ _Aelin_ ,” he pleads.

“Sorry, I didn’t think that through.” Aelin giggles lightly and runs a soothing hand across his shoulder. “Right. I’m going to turn you into a princess now.”

“Yay!” Thea cheers. Fleetfoot perks up at the little girl’s excitement, forever ready to play. “Aelin will make you pretty now, Daddy!”

“That I will!” Aelin snickers, and Rowan huffs a breath. His girls are trouble. “You’ll be the prettiest princess at the ball when I’m through with you.”

Aelin sets about weaving his hair together, and together, they hang out by the fire. Eventually, Evalin and Rhoe rejoin them in the family room, and Rowan wears the crown braid with about as much pride as a father wearing a princess braid can. It’s made more comfortable by Aelin and Thea’s pleased smiles.

Rowan can barely manage a simple braid, but Aelin’s managed to weave his chin-length hair into something quite impressive. Aelin and her mother share a secretive look when Evalin notices the braid; she slips behind Aelin to braid her daughter’s hair soon after. Thea is enchanted by the braiding process, and Rowan quickly learns where his girlfriend learned the art of braiding. Evalin winds her daughter’s long blonde hair in a pattern that makes Aelin look like a princess come to life—a queen.

The conversation is light and pleasant. Rowan gladly soaks up the time with Aelin before she jets off on her tour in the following weeks. His apartment will be so quiet after months of having Aelin in it; it’s been a great few months. Rowan will miss Aelin stomping around his apartment with Thea, stealing his guitars and leaving them everywhere but where they’re supposed to be.

But what he’s really going to miss is this, Rowan thinks. Yeah, he’ll miss those quiet, evening hours with Aelin curled into his side and her head on his shoulder. They’re his favorite.

“Someone looks ready for bed,” Aelin observes from Rowan’s side. His gaze follows hers, finding Thea just in time to watch as she yawns before rubbing her face into Evalin’s shoulder. The older woman smiles softly at the girl, and Rowan starts to rise, intending to put Thea to bed.

“C’mon, kiddo,” he says. “Let’s go to bed, huh?”

“I want Evalin to take me,” Thea mumbles. Aelin’s mother looks delighted by the declaration but also a little sorry. Rowan bites back the disappointment that hits him. He always puts Thea to bed; it’s silly that he’s bothered to have one night off from his paternal duties.

“Okay.” Rowan knows he sounds reluctant to let her go. “Goodnight, Thea.”

“Goodnight, Daddy,” his little girl mumbles, and Evalin carries her off to bed.

Rhoe makes his excuses soon after, sending Rowan a clever wink before disappearing back into his study. Aelin raises an eyebrow at him, but Rowan shrugs off her questions. There’s no need to repeat the teasing he got from Rhoe this evening; instead, he takes advantage of their moment alone to kiss Aelin sweet and proper until a smile blooms on her face so big that they have to part.

But Aelin isn’t one to leave well enough alone. “He wasn’t mean to you, was he?”

“Nah.” Rowan smiles. “He was masochistic. Now I know where you got it from.”

His words make Aelin laugh, and Rowan drinks in the sight of her happiness, craving her smiles and laughter more than he ever thought was possible. Aelin wipes the tears from her eyes before taking his hand in hers; Rowan loves that, the casual affection between them. When she tugs on his hand to lead him away, Rowan follows after her willingly.

Her smile is sensual. “Let’s go to bed, baby.”

##  **Aelin Galathynius’s Shares Photo of Her Mother’s Braiding Skills.**

Rowan’s fingers are in Aelin’s hair, ruining the braid she wears; he groans when she digs her nails into the skin of his back, her warm hands having slipped under his shirt. Aelin giggles, and then she pulls the t-shirt off of him, trailing her hands down the front of his body and smiling a smile just for him.

“Gods,” Aelin breathes, “you’re so sexy.”

“Yeah?” Rowan forgets all about being arrogant when Aelin scratches her nails against the trail of hair leading beneath his jeans. “Shit, Aelin. You really want to?” Rowan looks at her incredulously. “Right now? In your parents’ house?”

“In my childhood bedroom, even.” Aelin snickers, backing him toward her bed until his knees hit the bed, and he sits down involuntarily. She sighs at his worried expression. “It’s no big deal, Ro. My parents know that we’re sleeping together. Besides,” she smiles wickedly, “this wouldn’t be the first time my parents caught me with a _boy_ in my room.”

Rowan’s laugh is strained, and his hands fall to Aelin’s thighs as she straddles him. He loves and hates how hopeless he is under her power, under that smile; Rowan can and will do anything for the woman sitting in his lap, pressing open-mouthed kisses down his throat.

“That doesn’t make me feel better about it, Aelin,” he manages at last. “I don’t want to think about you fooling around with someone else.”

“Oh, relax, Buzzard.” Aelin rolls her eyes at him, smiling. “I was seventeen, and neither of us had any idea what we were doing.” She laughs at her own joke. “It barely counts. I don’t think he even got my bra off. It was all too much tongue and some light groping.”

Aelin’s description makes him laugh heartily, nostalgia filling him at the thought of a teenage rendezvous. It’s hard for Rowan to imagine Aelin, young and inexperienced, fumbling around with some equally lost boy. It’s even harder to believe as she undoes his belt with confidence; the button and zipper follow soon after.

He sighs, allowing Aelin to push him back onto the bed; Rowan lies back, knees still bent over the edge of the mattress. He tells her, “Seventeen-year-old me wouldn’t have known what to do with you.”

Aelin smiles down at him, delighted by the confession. “Really?”

“Oh, yeah.” Rowan tries to sit up to help Aelin out of her shirt, but his girlfriend pushes him back down. He grins. “Teenage Rowan barely knew how to talk to other guys, much less a girl he found pretty. You would’ve run circles around me.”

“I probably would’ve been too scared to talk to you in the first place,” Aelin admits shyly, “but I definitely would’ve written a song full of teenage pining about you.”

Rowan smiles at the thought, and it takes a second for Aelin to lean forward to kiss it away. She breaks into husky laughter when Rowan blows a raspberry against her lips, surprising her. Aelin doesn’t relent, dragging her hands down his chest, and Rowan savors the soft feel of her nails through his shirt. It makes him shiver with want.

“But I don’t believe any of that for a second.” Aelin takes her shirt off herself, and Rowan happily drinks in the sight of her topless. It’s a pretty great view. “You were so… cool when I met you.”

“You thought I was cool?” Rowan is surprised by that, leaning upon his elbows; he and Aelin didn’t get along from their very first meeting. It certainly didn’t appear to Rowan as if Aelin thought he was cool.

“For like thirty seconds, yeah.” She smiles wickedly. “But then you opened that mouth of yours.”

Rowan laughs, and Aelin beams. “That sounds more like it. I thought I was going to have to get my memory checked for a second there.”

“Nope.” She taps his nose and giggles when Rowan nips her fingers. He’s found himself more playful with her lately, but Rowan likes how his little games make her smile. “Your memory is quite alright, _old_ man.”

“That’s just rude.” He pouts at his girlfriend. It’s hard to keep the expression when Aelin giggles. “I’m not much older than you, remember?”

“Those two years _count_ ,” she says, tugging down his jeans enough to free his half-hard cock. Rowan’s skin flushes with heat at the look in her eye, and their conversation fades from his mind. All of Rowan’s attention zeros in on her fingers as they wrap around him.

“What do you want to do?” Aelin asks as if she wasn’t in the process of getting him hard. “For your birthday?”

“Um.” Rowan tries to focus on her words and not her fingers. “Some more of this would be pretty great.”

Aelin laughs at that, a sultry sound that sinks into Rowan’s body and heats his blood. “Birthday sex is a given. Anything else?”

“You really expect me to give you an answer with my cock in your hands?” Rowan’s words falter, and his breathing turns ragged when Aelin runs her finger purposefully across the slit of his cock. His eyes roll back in his head, and he groans a little too loudly for their location.

“Shit,” he gasps, “ _Aelin_.”

She giggles, does it again. “Does that feel good, baby?”

“Yeah,” he rasps. “So good.”

Aelin curls her body over his to meet his lips with hers, nipping his lips and stroking his cock simultaneously. Rowan moans into her mouth, and Aelin swallows the not so little sounds, twisting her hands around the base of his cock in time with their tongues. He’s never had anyone figure him out like Aelin has, and it shows.

“Fuck,” Rowan says as they break apart. “Baby, I gotta have you.”

They kiss again. Rowan whimpers as Aelin’s fingers release him, and she slides out of his lap. She laughs softly when Rowan reaches for her, but Aelin evades him, pulling his jeans and boxers off as she sinks to the floor.

“Give me a pillow,” Aelin orders. Rowan figures her plan out with that.

Rowan yanks a pillow down from the head of the bed, and Aelin breaks into laughter at his eagerness, pulling her hair back into a ponytail. It’s long since lost the braid, and Rowan finds it hot as hell to watch her great ready to take him in her mouth. The sight has him tugging at his cock as he waits and watches; Aelin swears when she notices, presses a kiss to the inside of his knee in answer.

“Are you going to do all the work for me, baby?” Aelin asks sweetly, leaning her cheek against his leg and watching him stroke himself.

He raises his brow. “Is that something you’d be into?”

“Watching you jerk off?” Aelin thinks it over. “Yeah, totally. It’s really hot when you touch yourself—hotter when you come for me.”

Rowan groans, twisting his wrist as he works himself. “Okay, baby.”

“Wait!” She stops him, reaching for his cock and taking it from his hands. “Some other time, though. Now, I’m about to blow your mind.”

Aelin wastes little time getting to work, pressing her lips to the tip of his cock in a disarmingly sweet manner. Her turquoise and gold eyes look up at Rowan from under her lashes, and then Aelin takes him into her mouth, massages his balls with a free hand.

“Oh, _shit_.” Rowan winces at his volume, and Aelin struggles to keep him in her mouth and laugh at the same time. She fails and releases him, giggling hoarsely at him and stroking his cock with her hand. He says, “That felt so good, baby.”

“Yeah?” Aelin smiles. “I barely got started.”

Rowan doesn’t bother playing shy. “I like you on your knees for me, baby.”

“Shit. Keep talking to me like that, Rowan. I like it,” Aelin says, “but you can’t get too loud, baby.” She brings her mouth back to his cock, and Rowan groans in anticipation; Aelin smiles. “You gotta be quiet for me, though, baby.”

Rowan just barely manages to muffle his moan as Aelin wraps her lips back around his cock. She bobs her head, slowly and teasingly, and wraps her fingers around the part of him that she can’t reach. Rowan’s fingers tangle in her hair, and his tugs a little roughly at the roots. He’s learned she likes it when he does that; the moan it earns causes Rowan’s eyes to roll back into his head.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he says. “I’m so lucky to have a good girl like you.”

Aelin moans around him. The vibrations feel so good on his cock that Rowan nearly comes undone then and there; he groans her name encouragingly and starts to guide her head with the hand in her hair. Aelin plays along, making sucking and slurping noises that threaten to push him to the edge.

“Oh,” he groans. “Fuck, Aelin. That’s good.”

She moans again; her palms slide up and down the tops of his thighs as she works. Aelin’s relinquished control to him, letting Rowan move her head. He gets lost in the sensations, allowing his head to fall back and his eyes to close. Fuck, Aelin’s mouth feels good—fucking, amazing. There’s only one thing that feels better.

Aelin releases him all too soon; her name falls from Rowan’s line in a whine, disappointed by the loss of contact. His girlfriend smiles up at him with pleasure and pride.

“Fuck my mouth,” she orders. Rowan’s eyes bug out of his face, and Aelin rolls her eyes at him. “You know you want to.”

“I—”

“I like it,” Aelin promises. “And you _want to_.”

Heat flashes through Rowan’s body at the challenge in his girl’s tone. Aelin flashes him a sly smile, knowing that she’s won the meager argument, and then she wraps her lips back around the swollen head of his cock. Rowan growls at the feeling.

He’s hesitant at first about thrusting up into Aelin’s mouth, but she moans encouragingly and relaxes her throat. Rowan tries not to think about how Aelin knows that she’s into having her mouth fucked; that’s a dangerous line of thought. Instead, he focuses on how her lips feel wrapped around the shaft of his cock, about how clever her tongue is, and rocks his hips into her mouth. It doesn’t take him long to get into it.

Aelin lets him have his way with her, gasping for air when Rowan pulls out. She’s back on him before he can suggest something else, determined in a way that Rowan finds equal parts cute and incredibly sexy. Rowan continues to praise her, chanting her name in a low, rough voice and pulling on her hair.

“That’s my good girl— _oh, fuck_.” Rowan’s hips start to lose their rhythm. He’s close, and Aelin can tell if how she hangs on is any indication. He’s afraid to be too rough, but she’s only encouraged every thrust with a moan of her own. “Shit, baby. _Aelin_. I’m gonna—”

“ _Oh,_ ” he groans a little too loudly. Fear checks his voice, and Aelin has to pull away to get control of her laughter. “Gods. You’re going to get me in trouble, aren’t you?”

“Not if you’re quiet, baby.” Aelin’s voice is hoarse. She sends him a pointed look. “Like I told you to be.”

Rowan sighs as her lips close back around him. He’ll have to do something special for his good girl later. “You make it so hard, though.”

Aelin laughs with his cock down her throat and chokes. Rowan realizes his accidental innuendo and barks his own laugh, but the sound cuts off when Aelin starts massaging his balls. He starts to rock his hips again, chasing his release.

“ _Oh, Aelin_.” The woman kneeling before him moans in response. “ _Oh, baby._ Fuck _._ ”

Rowan had never considered himself loud in bed, not until Aelin pointed it out. At first, it made him incredibly self-conscious, and Rowan found himself shier, struggling to muffle his groans as he fucked Aelin. His girlfriend quickly put an end to that by informing him that very little got her as hot and bothered as hearing Rowan moan.

“ _Oh. Oh, fuck_.” Aelin moans. “Aelin _. Gods, I love you so much, baby._ ”

Rowan growls as he comes inside of Aelin’s mouth, watching as his girlfriend makes every effort to swallow every drop that she can. It’s a lot to watch, but it draws out his pleasure that little bit longer. As Rowan’s hips start to slow down, Aelin doesn’t release him right away. She spends a little time giving his cock extra attention, kitten licks and featherlight kisses, until Rowan becomes so sensitive that he has to push her away.

Aelin breaks into laughter when Rowan drags her into the bed, and they both groan into their next kiss, tangling their fingers into one another’s hair. They make out for a while, enjoying each other’s company until Rowan’s hand slips into her leggings to tease her. Aelin breaks away from the kiss, gasping at the feeling.

“Gods,” Rowan swears into the skin of her neck. “You’re so fucking wet, Aelin.”

“Oh,” Aelin moans as his fingers get to work. “All for you, baby. I love it when you talk to me.”

Rowan groans. He rises to his knees and gets to work undressing Aelin the rest of the way; his girlfriend helps, laughing at the awkward task of freeing her from her leggings. Rowan settles between her legs once Aelin is naked, looking her in the eye as he licks a stripe up the center of her folds.

Aelin’s head falls back onto the pillow, and her back arches off of the bed. It’s enough to encourage Rowan to do it again, and he groans when it elicits the same reaction out of her. Aelin naked and in bed is the best damn thing he’s ever seen. He kisses between her legs lightly and circles her entrance with one finger.

“ _Rowan_ ,” Aelin curses. He laughs like the arrogant bastard that he is. “No teasing.”

He slips a finger inside of her. “Yeah?”

“ _Yes_.” Aelin’s voice is high and breathless. “Oh, Rowan!”

“Put that pillow over your face,” he orders. Though Rowan is disappointed to miss out on her expressions, he knows Aelin will never be able to keep it down. Her parents overhearing them—that’s his worst nightmare.

Aelin huffs, but she complies. Rowan wastes little time. Aelin’s muscles tremble with anticipation, and he laughs when her hips jerk upward when Aelin feels his breathing. Rowan can hear her muffled protest. Right, no teasing. He closes his lips around her clit.

“ _Shit.”_ Aelin’s cries are just audible from under the pillow. “Fuck!”

Rowan’s fingers search for that spot of Aelin’s that makes her see stars; he’d love to draw this out, but orders are orders. Maybe Rowan will take Aelin somewhere alone, one weekend when she’s free from her hectic life. Perhaps, they can find somewhere without an audience, somewhere where Rowan can take all of the time he wants with Aelin. Where they can both be as loud as they want.

Aelin climaxes quickly, too worked up from blowing him to have any patience. Rowan groans, savoring the taste and smell of her and the feeling of her muscles clenching around his fingers. He’s struck with regret that he let himself come already; Rowan would love nothing more than to flip Aelin over and have his way with her.

Rowan pins Aelin to the bed with one arm when she tries to jerk away from him, trying to escape his attention. Her fingers clutch desperately at the pillow that is keeping her quiet, and Rowan can’t help but be filled with pride at the sight of her. He’s done this; he’s made her feel this way.

He twists the fingers inside of her, amping up the speed and pressure. Aelin’s cries are desperate and pleading, but they’re not begging him to stop, and that’s all Rowan needs to know. He praises her, “You’re doing so good, Aelin.”

A whine from under the pillow. “Come again for me, baby.”

Rowan returns his mouth to the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs. Aelin cries out, and her hips move, rolling against his mouth. Rowan groans, thrusting his fingers inside of her. He can feel the tension building with Aelin, and he just knows that he can get her there one more time before he lets her go.

“Rowan!” Aelin shouts. Her hips jerk. “Oh, fuck, baby.”

He groans against her. “Good girl. That’s it. Come for me, Aelin. Right now.”

She does. Rowan focuses drawing out her orgasm, resisting the urge to moan loudly at the sight of her trembling for him. Aelin’s arms have locked around the pillow, and her back arches from the mattress as her hips roll against his face. Rowan can hear her softer cries; Aelin is always quiet when she comes, unlike the pleading and ordering she engages in before then.

Aelin rolls onto her side, but Rowan follows, licking and sucking gentle kisses to her sensitive body. Her hips rock gently against his face, and Rowan groans at the feeling. He’ll definitely be nudging her awake into an hour to go another round. Aelin’s just so fucking hot like this; Rowan loves it. He can’t get enough of it. Of her.

“Holy shit.” The pillow falls away from Aelin’s flushed face. “Rowan.”

He only abandons kissing her thighs when Aelin’s fingers tug on his hair to bring his mouth to hers. She moans into his mouth, tasting herself on his lips, and they settle against one another, kissing and touching. Rowan knows that this part is just as important to her as the sex; Aelin likes to be held afterward, comforted as she comes down.

Rowan happily obliges; he likes it just as much as she does.

Aelin breaks into laughter at something she sees over her shoulder. Fear strikes him in the heart, and he’s too afraid to look. Rowan doesn’t want to know what she’s just seen, but Aelin must recognize the fear in his eyes.

She laughs again, kisses him. “I think we scarred Mr. Snuggles.”

Her childhood bear, Rowan realizes. He glances over his shoulder and spies the bear sitting innocently on her dresser. Its beady black eyes are emotionless, but somehow, that only adds to the humor. Rowan barks a laugh.

“Poor guy,” he says. “He’ll never be the same.”

Aelin giggles and turns his face back to hers for another kiss.

##  **Rowan Whitethorn Returns to Apartment with Daughter Thea.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who might be interested... you can find the playlist for Noisy Neighbors right [here](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fopen.spotify.com%2Fplaylist%2F55o42aVuvPrP3QoAT1WIwE&t=ZDc5ZjQ1YTMwNmUxNzgyYmRhMTdiNTQ4ZDNiZDBjMTZjY2ZiYzJmOSxhMWY2Y2Q0YWZlNmUwOTU1ZDAzMjAzZGM0MWQxMjNlZjM0MDQwMWU0&ts=1606694560).


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